#i could be writing fanfic but instead i’m crunching numbers

[yunessa]

Owlcattober Day 7: Lamplight

In my fanfic, Roan is the Necromancer cultist who resurrected the dead in the cemetery in act 2. Given a second chance he's working for the crusade. Some mild gore-y description below and pre-Leper's Smile spoilers as a warning.

“It is… day four into my imprisonment.” Roan’s rough voice spoke softly  as he worked. “No, not imprisonment- since I started working for the crusade. Day four since I started working for the crusade.” His acidic green eyes moved over the severed head that lay on the table. “And I am now working on severed head number two.” The lamplight in the tent was weak, but his eyes were accustomed to far dimmer circumstances to work by so he kept the lamplight dim.

A row of silver tools lay next to the head. All of them were cleaned, sharpened, and polished. Ready for his use much like the pad of paper and writing utensil on the other side of the head. When he pretended to be a tailor’s apprentice, Roan used his minions to perform basic tasks for him. But now, he was alone, forbidden from using his magic without supervision. The young crusader that had been watching him had grown nauseous when Roan had dissected the first head.

“The first head held no traces of abnormalities.” It hurt for him to speak. But there was a comfort to hearing his voice and performing tasks he was suited for in this camp. “It belonged to a middle aged man, cause of death not apparent.” His voice held no emotion as the silver tool flashed in the candle light. 

“Without the rest of the body, a certain cause of death cannot be certain. No blood remains within it, despite the head seeming freshly decapitated.” Without using a minion to write his words for him, he was slowed down in his investigation. But if it bothered the man, then it didn’t show. Nothing he did was alarming- he didn’t even try to slip the chains on his limbs, heavy and loud though they were.

He simply stopped using his tools long enough to write any findings he had in his spidery scrawl. In that he was professional, even when denied use of his magic. “There is no rot to be found on the second head, even when it is not preserved by any magic.” He paused. “Not any I know or would have used, though it is possible the fluid…” He trailed off. “I have no way to identify whatever fluid has replaced the blood. Samples will be taken and preserved under supervision when the crusader watching me has given permission.”

He set down one tool, picked up another with a wickedly sharp edge and silver pliers. “Now we shall-” He raised his head as he listened to footsteps crunch in the snow outside of his tent, placing a rag to cover the head in time for a blond halfling to poke her head in the tent.

“Heya! Oh- am I interrupting?” The halfling’s nose wrinkled and she held a hand to her nose. “I could leave if you were busy.” Her voice was aggressively cheerful. It grated at him.

Roan, standing behind the table, with his dirty mortuary tools and his hand over the severed head didn’t know quite what to say to that. “Am I being summoned by the Knight Commander?” He asked instead, not sure what to do with the brightly coloured halfling.

“Summoned? No! I don’t think so. I came to say hello! The name’s Nurah, Nurah Dendiwhar- I’m the crusade’s historian!”  She put her hand over her chest and beamed. “I know some of the crusaders aren’t being too nice to you- so I baked a loaf of bread for you! You’re looking kind of dirty. Did you need any soap or-”

“State what you want or leave.”  She was just a halfling, smaller than the human necromancer with pink and blue clothes and bright blond hair. But something about her entering his tent alone, with no fanfare or orders, set Roan on edge, full of suspicion. 

“That’s rude, you know. I was just trying to be friendly!” Nurah protested.

“And I’m dating the queen” He retorted. “State your business.” As Nurah pouted at him he rested one hand behind the covered head, using it to hide the way he gripped his mortuary knife. 

“Okay. I heard the crusaders talking about you. They sounded like they haven’t been treating you alright.” She admitted. “The guy that was watching you is trying to flirt with the Eagle Watch marksman so I thought I’d slip inside.” 

Roan remained silent and when it was obvious he would remain silent Nurah sighed at him.  She walked up to the table and set down a thick loaf of bread wrapped in waxed paper. It smelled strongly of spices, fresh.

“I thought you might like some warm bread. You don’t have to talk to me- but maybe I could put in a good word with the Commander if you help me out!” She beamed at Roan. “I’ve never talked to a real necromancer before.”

“Anyway,” Nurah continued. “Maybe next time we can talk.” Her expression twisted into sympathy. “I heard some of what they’ve been doing to you. Nobody deserves to be treated like that.” Her expression brightened and she waved. “Have a nice day!”

And just like that, Nurah turned, walking out of his tent as easily as she left it.

Roan exhaled slowly and waited several minutes before he turned his attention to the load of bread. Leaving the head for now, he moved to examine it. “Plain wax paper.” He whispered as he cut through the wax with paranoid care.

Inside was a nice roll of bread, smelling of cinnamon. The bread was still warm to the touch of his cold fingers, soft when he pressed his finger against the loaf. His eyes narrowed and with the same surgical precision he used dissecting the head, he now applied to dissecting the loaf. His suspicions were rewarded when the knife found something in the soft bread and he used his other hand to  peel the bread away.

A metal key came free of the bread and he studied the rough metal, turning it so it caught the lamplight. Breadcrumbs were still stuck to the metal from when it was baked into the loaf. “Simple steel key.” He whispered before looking at his chained hands. “But is it the key for me?” He slid the key into one of the locks and it fit like it was made for them.

His fingers began to tremble as he started to twist it. He could feel it as the mechanism inside the lock started to move and his heart began to race as he stopped. Pulling the key out, tucking it away inside his clothes in time for loud laughter coming from outside his tent.

He quickly scooped up the bread, tossing it away. “Nurah.” He repeated the name, committing it to memory, as his heart beat madly. “What is this for?” There was no answer to his whispered question in the tent. His hands trembled  but he pulled away from the tent entryway. 

Nurah’s gift of a key to his chains wasn’t a gift out of kindness- was it?  “No.” He whispered. “No kindness there. Not for no reason.” He moved to stand at the entrance to his tent, listening to the crusaders outside. He could unlock these chains…

Then, with effort he forced himself to return to the table, pulling the rag off the head. “No.” He said firmly to the severed head. “No.” He rasped as his voice threatened to break. “If I put my son in danger for this… no. Where was I? I remember. Samples. We will take samples once I have examined the teeth. From there we will progress to the eyes. I need to hurry to finish this examination before the commander comes to find me or- I don’t know.” His voice fell quiet and he grabbed more oil to fill the lamp with. 

“I must hurry. Pharasma look kindly upon my work.”

[kaz3313]

for the fanfic ask game, F and L 👀👀

L: how many times do you revise your fic/chapter before posting?

This really depends on the length! If it’s a single fic around 1k or under I’ll usually write everything, revise once, post, read it over in case I need to edit anything real quick. I usually leave it for a few hours to a day so I have “fresh” eyes to look over it.

For longer fics I tend to read through parts of it as I go/revise as I’m making the fic. So if I’m at the end of a scene, and plan on writing another scene, I’ll look over what I have, revise, and then write more. I Also do read through the whole thing afterwards- and unless I’m on a time crunch I give myself at least a day after “finishing” it to revise.

F: Share a snippet from one of your fav dialouge scenes and explain why you’re proud of it:

(Everything is under a readmore because tumblr format makes things quite lengthy)

So I shall share two!! One from a fic I’ve posted and one from one I have not :)

(Snippet from Pit of Sorrow, Pit of Comfort):

“It could definitely be worse… Though I mean not to offend you, if it wasn't for Quan Yizhen I would’ve gone to Yin Yu. At the same time, he is far too subservient to me. You have a bit of a bite to you. What if I was left without either of you? Then who would I seek out?”

Seek out- there, the beginning of Hua Cheng’s only way to “cry for help”. Seeking out people he couldn’t care less for (their relationship was strictly business after all-).

“Crimso- Hua Cheng, would you like to do something to help your mood?”

“Yes, I’d rather this encounter be enjoyable. What would be the point of it otherwise?”

Instead of offering what was in his mind or anything he wanted to do Hua Cheng stood there- He Xuan, if not for his good judgment, would strangle him. Why couldn’t he just be one bit normal?

He, of course, would be expected to think of something.

“We could go beat the shit out of The Green Ghost?” He finally offered.

(Snippet end)

I really enjoyed when I wrote this and posted because I’ve seen miscommunication used a lot for angst (understandably) but I really enjoy using it for humor. Tbh I really love the dialogue in this fic in general because of Hua Cheng’s nonchalant attitude and He Xuan’s bubbling worry about him while also trying to keep himself more neutral. It was a fun piece to work on!

Snippet from (Part two in a series and fic unnamed). Please note is rough draft so descriptors will be added when I do post it:

“Randy, we need you back. Soon as possible- you can come in tomorrow even. You don’t have to go on the bullshit training, you know your shit, and same hours as before.”

“Is it cause I’m the only one who’ll work with crazy-“

“We can’t find anyone else who’s willingly to work with Karen,” He sounded oh so desperate.

“And people have been-“

“I can’t believe it but people have been asking about you. You know seemingly know every actor, plot, and directors of every movie here”

“Yeah, also I enjoy cl-“

“And of course you’ll have to close again on weekends but you never minded that. So how about it?”

“Under a few conditions. Number one, I get my keys back, the keys I used to have don’t try to pass someone else’s on me.”

“Done,”

“Fifteen cent raise,” He stated.

“Five.”

“Ten’s my final offer. Otherwise I’m not coming back,”

“… Alright. Ten cent raise.”

“And! If you fire me again and rehire me I get another ten cent raise and a bonus.”

(Snippet end)

This is actually an incredibly angsty story so I really enjoyed making this type of witty/non serious dialogue in between everything. I think even for the most serious of writing a bit of lightheartedness is needed (whether he from internal dialogue, external dialogue, or even just a humorous scenario among all the more serious ones). Also it is quite hard to write angst with nothing at all inbetween (for those who can massive kudos)

[pollenallergie]

i thought statistics was gonna be fun. i mean it’s right up my nerdy lil alley, but fuck this is a battle.

(ps. the tags contain a brief discussion of eddie x reader bc my posts can never just be about my personal struggles, i always have to involve my current obsession in some way, shape, or form)

[alarawriting]

52 Project #24: The Princesses and the Peas

(Inspired by a post on Tumblr and if I can ever find it again I will link it here.)

(Not proofread, beta’ed, or even read through a second time because this is massively late and if I don’t post within the next hour it will officially be next week everywhere in the United States and I will have failed in my mission. I’ll try to re-read and proofread and edit next week. Also this note is highly unprofessional, but I learned my relationship to my audience through fanfic, so this is how I roll.)

***

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, almost but not entirely like this one, of the queen who sought the perfect wife for her son, the crown prince.

The queen had ruled the land alone since the death of her husband. She was praised for her wisdom and her benevolence toward her people. But she was no longer young, and it was time to make sure her son made a politically beneficial marriage, to strengthen his position when it came time for him to take the crown. Many in the land whispered that the young man would make a terrible king, and wanted him to abdicate in favor of his younger sister, who was beautiful and bright and smiling. Celia, the young sister, could look anyone in the eye and make them believe that in that moment, they were the most important person in her world. Arien, the prince… could not do that.

The prince had a talent for mathematics, and it had expressed itself very young. Some said he should be the chancellor of the exchequer rather than the king. But Queen Leyta knew her son would make a compassionate and wise ruler as well as a prudent one. He also had a gift for seeing the humanity behind the numbers he calculated, of being able to think of the impact they would have on the people he would one day rule.

Once, when he was a child of six, his nursemaid lost him. Leyta found him behind the kitchens, picking through the garbage bins to find table scraps. She would have punished the kitchen staff for allowing such a thing, but Arien insisted that she should not. “It’s not their fault, Mother. I ordered them to let me, and I’m the prince, so they had to obey me. I told them that if you became angry at them I would tell you that they were only obeying my orders. They can’t get in trouble for obeying their liege.”

Leyta sighed. She could punish them for obeying their liege, when their liege was 6 and the thing he wanted to do was eat garbage, but she wouldn’t, because she knew why they obeyed. When the prince was thwarted, he would ask why. And if he received an answer, he would argue with it and present his position. Sometimes, this debate would lead to him accepting the necessity, and calmly going about his business, seeming to forget all about what he’d asked. More often, if he didn’t get an answer to “why”, or he didn’t like the answer and thought it didn’t make sense, and he was still thwarted, he would start to scream and hide under tables, or scream and run around and break things, or scream and slam his head into the wall, and he wouldn’t stop even when offered the thing he wanted. It was very, very hard to calm him once he started shrieking. So instead of punishing the kitchen staff, she asked Arien, “Why were you eating garbage?”

“Our food is bought with the taxes we take from the people,” he said seriously. “If we wasted less food, we wouldn’t have to tax the people as sorely as we do, and they would have more money to buy things for themselves.”

So she took him aside and told him that the scraps were fed to the dogs, who helped the palace huntsmen bring down game, or the goats and fowl, who gave the palace milk, meat and eggs, or they were tilled into the ground to make the fields around the palace more fruitful. They did not, in fact, go to waste; food that wasn’t wholesome for humans to eat could still feed animals, who would turn it back into wholesome food.

Then she had a lengthy discussion with him about tax policy, and listened gravely to his suggestions as to how they could ease the burdens on the people, and told him what the problems with his ideas were. And when some of his ideas didn’t have significant problems, she told him so, and discussed them with him, and even implemented a few as policy.

Arien also had a great love for bugs. He spent much of his days wandering the grounds, sketching every insect he saw, capturing some to study them and figure out what they ate. When Leyta learned of this, she found a learned scholar of insects, and hired him to be Arien’s tutor in the matter of insects, only. The man was at first openly resentful of being required to work with a small child, assuming that Arien would be a spoiled princeling with no real interest in learning, but when he discovered Arien’s love for the tiny creatures, he embraced the boy wholeheartedly and tutored him as well as he could.

The prince had few friends. He was open and innocent, happy to make friends with any child close to his own age, but the honest children who truly wanted a playmate were put off by Arien’s tendency to talk about bugs and math almost constantly. The children who put up with Arien’s chatter were, to Leyta’s eyes, obviously coached by ambitious mothers, pretending to friendship with the strange young prince to improve their position at court. She arranged for most of these children to be sent away – either their mothers dismissed, or the family sent to one of the crown’s holdings with some duty to perform or another. Arien was saddened by the disappearance of his playmates, since he didn’t realize they saw him as mere stepping stones to power. Celia knew, and would comfort her brother as well as she could… but she didn’t have a lot of patience for math, tax policy, and insects either.

As he grew up, Arien continued to display a strange mixture of wisdom and childishness. He would run around the palace grounds, playing with children far younger than he was, and they were not old enough to try to manipulate him, so Queen Leyta left them alone. He enjoyed riding his horse and taking care of it, and was often found at the stables, for he believed his horse needed to cared for in just the exact way he did it, and he didn’t trust the stablehands to follow his instructions exactly. He would spend hours discussing the politics of the land and the problems facing various groups of his subjects with Leyta and her own advisors, and then he would scream and throw himself on the floor at dinner because a chef had put visible onions in his soup, and he would need to be put to bed with his favorite blanket and a knitted doll of a dog that he’d had when he was four.

People said that the boy was touched in the head, that he was slightly mad, and also, that a future king who threw temper tantrums over onions was not to be trusted. But they weren’t, exactly, tantrums, as Leyta saw them. They didn’t stop when the problem was solved, they usually didn’t include demands – in fact, usually it was hard to get the prince to explain what was wrong, because he seemed to lose much of his ability to speak when these fits came on him. And she could see in his eyes that he was terrified and overwhelmed, not angry and demanding. Arien needed the world to work a certain way, and when it did not, it left him adrift, frightened and lost in a world that seemed to make no sense to him anymore.

Some of these ways that the world needed to work involved food, and the importance of not being able to see onions, for an onion large enough to see was large enough to crunch in his mouth in a way that apparently was so disgusting it would make him lose his ability to eat all day. There were similar rules regarding peppers, and certain cream dishes. Other ways the world needed to work regarded his mother’s advisors treating him like their future king, not in terms of obsequious deference but in terms of actually listening to his ideas and explaining things to him – even when he was merely eight. And then there was the care of animals – his own animals needed to be cared for in an exact way, and if he saw anyone being cruel to an animal, he might actually become violent to that person. The same was true of stronger people being cruel to weaker ones. When he was fourteen, he heard a maid crying, and asked a kitchen maid to find out for him what had happened. And then, when he learned that a nobleman under his roof had ill used her and cast her aside, he went to his mother and demanded the man be whipped for his crimes. The political explanations she gave for why that couldn’t be done fell on deaf ears; he was a cruel man and he’d harmed someone he had power over, and that was all Arien cared about. Leyta only managed to satisfy him by sending the man on a probably futile sea expedition to try to find a cheaper source of rice.

This was the boy that Queen Leyta had to find a proper bride for.

Her mother-in-law, the Dowager Queen, had ideas, but it had been many years since the Dowager Queen had actually held any power; she was one of Leyta’s advisors now, nothing more. So the idea would have to be one that Leyta agreed with, herself.

A ball to introduce eligible young women with powerful families to the prince? No. The prince didn’t handle crowds or parties well, or meeting a lot of new people in one evening.

A series of daytime salons, where a small group of eligible women would converse over luncheon with the prince? No. That was still too many people and the prince  was self-conscious about people watching him eat.

Individual visits from each eligible young lady and her chaperones, to the palace, to meet with Arien, and also to be approved by Leyta? Yes! An excellent idea. Leyta had her secretary write up the invitations, to all the young women whose parents had written to her or the Dowager to express an interest.

In the palace was a suite of rooms that had been Leyta’s, once, when she’d lived in this palace to learn its ways before marrying the then-prince. She had that suite cleaned and prepared for the guests. Sleeping quarters to either side for the princess’s guards. Ladies-in-waiting to sleep in the antechamber outside the princess’s bedroom. And inside the princess’s bedroom, a bed heaped with several thick eiderdown duvets and pillows, incredibly soft, with sheets made from the finest linens.

And under the second eiderdown duvet, dried peas.

Queen Leyta tested the peas. When she sat on the bed, she couldn’t feel them. If she laid in the bed, she could barely tell they were there. But when she had Arien try it, he said, “You’re going to take them out before the guests come, right? The peas make the bed much too uncomfortable.”

“The peas,” Leyta said, “are to test whether a girl is right for you or not. It’s magic.”

Arien looked at her skeptically, unsure whether he believed in magic or not. “How are dried peas supposed to find me the right wife?”

“Magic,” Leyta said. “I can’t tell you exactly how it works. But it’s very important that you not tell them about the peas, or the magic won’t work.”

“Mother, I’m sixteen. I’m not a child. This whole story sounds ridiculous.”

“All right,” Leyta admitted. “It’s not magic, but I won’t be able to explain it to you until after it’s proven that it works, or doesn’t. But it is very important that you not tell any of your guests about it.”

Arien looked like he wanted to argue some more about it. Leyta said, “Trust me,” and he sighed, plainly remembering the number of times his mother had stood up for him or had come up with some scheme to help him.

“All right, Mother, but I’ll want that explanation afterwards.”

The Dowager Queen had her own theories. “You want to see if they can tell the peas are there?”

“To a certain extent,” Leyta said.

“You know that old wives’ tale about princesses being true and refined if they’re extremely sensitive is just a myth. I wasn’t a fragile flower who’d lose petals if you looked at her hard, and neither were you. And neither will Celia be.”

“I know that, Mother,” Leyta said – it was custom to address your mother-in-law as Mother, and Leyta’s own mother had died shortly after her wedding. The Dowager Queen had been the closest thing to a mother she’d had the entire time she was Queen. “I’m not testing for extreme skin sensitivity. Trust me.”

“It’d be hard for him to get an heir on a princess that fragile, don’t you think?” The Dowager chortled.

Leyta sighed. “No need to be crude about it. I have my reasons, and I’ll explain them to you, eventually. Let’s see if it works, first.”

***

The first princess was from the west. She had long straight hair and delicate-looking eyes with folded lids that left them shaped like almonds, rather than the eggs that the people of this realm wore in their face. She had pale creamy skin with a golden undertone, and she was demure and very polite, her etiquette perfect. She sat with Arien for hours, smiling at him with a face that expressed great interest, as he explained to her the complexities of life in a beehive.

In the morning, Leyta asked her, “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, wonderfully,” the princess said. “The bed was perfect! So soft! Your hospitality is wonderful.” She bowed her head.

Leyta saw her and her entourage off. When she returned, she asked Arien, “What did you think of her?”

“She was nice,” Arien said. “She listened to me. I’ve only had a few friends who listened to me, and they all moved away.”

Privately, without Arien present, the Dowager asked, “So what’s your verdict?”

“Unless none of them pass the test, she’s a no.”

***

The second princess was from the land immediately to the north. Her skin was tree- brown but as smooth as a tranquil lake, her hair floating around her head in a soft, curly cloud. Arien talked to her about beetles. She made excuses of not feeling well about half an hour into the beetle discussion.

When Leyta asked her how she slept, she said, “Your rooms are very nice. And the food last night was excellent, I’m so sorry I had to cut the evening short. But I feel fully rejuvenated today.”

Arien said, “She seemed okay, but she kept looking around while I was talking to her, so much that I think she gave herself motion sickness. I think that’s why she got sick.”

Leyta said to the Dowager, “A definite no.”

***

The third princess was from the far south. She had beautiful straight golden hair, cut short and asymmetrically, where it was shorter in the back than front and where it was parted on one side rather than in the middle.

She complained about her soup being cold. She complained about her roast beef being too bloody. She complained that the dessert course had small portions and also that it was too sweet. She screamed at servants for not bringing her wet towels for wiping her hands quickly enough and for refilling her wine glass too quickly. She insisted on talking to the seneschal about the servants who had served her, demanding that they be banished from the castle for incompetence. When Arien tried to talk to her, her demeanor was sweet, but every time he tried to talk to her about something he liked, she insisted that he show her another part of the castle. She made plans for room redecoration as if she had already become Arien’s queen.

In the morning, she was sickly sweet with Leyta, saying it was only a minor thing, really, but surely more competent servants could be found to make the bed? It was extremely lumpy. Leyta found out that she’d woken the chambermaids at 1 in the morning to demand an additional five featherbeds piled on top of hers.

Arien didn’t look at his mother. “Um… I don’t want to be impolite, but… I didn’t like her very much.”

The Dowager Queen said, “Please don’t tell me you’re considering that young harridan just because she could tell there were peas in the bed.”

“Oh, no. Not even for a moment,” said Leyta, and drew her quill through the name “Princess Carinna” on the list.

***

The fourth princess was actually the daughter of a powerful merchant, not an actual princess at all. She had deeply tanned skin and thick black hair, and beautiful dark eyes. She and Arien talked for hours about tax policy and accounting techniques, and she seemed genuinely interested.

She said the bed had been wonderful, and there was nothing wrong with it. Arien liked her. But Queen Leyta marked her as a provisional choice, the first on the list if no one passed her test.

***

And so it went with princess after princess. Most of them showed at least some slight sign of impatience when Arien monopolized the conversation, but none of them admitted to it, and few even tried to change the topic. No others were as rude as Carinna. No others admitted to detecting the peas, either. Leyta was on the verge of contacting the merchant to make an offer for his daughter to wed Arien. And then Princess Inaya arrived.

Princess Inaya was from further north than the second princess had been, her skin darker and her hair in braids that lay directly against her head, with ribbons and beads woven into them at the bottom. She didn’t look Leyta in the eye – or anyone else, really, keeping her head bowed demurely. She picked at her food, more or less eating only the potatoes, and she barely spoke… until she met with Arien.

He offered, diffidently, to show her the garden, and she accepted. He started to point out interesting bugs that he saw in the garden… and she began to point out interesting rocks. They soon began an animated conversation that sounded to Leyta more like two separate threads, where Arien would say a sentence or two about insects, then yield to Inaya, who would say a sentence or two about rocks. Sometimes they had a genuine back-and-forth when they talked about the habitats of pillbugs, who lived under rocks, or other areas where rocks and insects somehow intersected. Arien showed Inaya the notebook where he drew bugs and made his observations, and Inaya seemed to be thrilled with his artistic skill. She showed him her own notebook, with no art at all, where she wrote down the properties of rocks she had discovered and outlined the tests she did on stones to see what they were made of. Arien was fascinated with the efforts she’d gone to and how thoroughly she’d documented her findings; he’d never thought of doing anything to research the insects aside from looking them up in his tutor’s books.

At no point did she ever look Arien in the eye. At no point did he seem to care. He relaxed enough with Inaya to flap his hands when he grew excited; Inaya had a chain of polished stones that, instead of wearing around her neck, she tossed in the air as she paced.

In the morning, when Leyta asked Inaya how she slept, she squirmed.

“I, um. The bed was mostly very nice. Very good linens, nice soft down. But, uh. It felt like maybe there were… tiny pebbles in there somewhere? I’m not sure, I didn’t want to be rude and strip down the bed to look, but, uh. It was kind of uncomfortable.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that,” Leyta said.

She made arrangements to ask Arien his opinion before Inaya’s entourage left, this time. He spoke very simply. “I love her. Pick her, she’s the one.”

“I thought you would say that,” Leyta said, and she finished drafting the offer to Inaya’s parents, and signed it. “Take this to her lady-in-waiting before they leave, to give to Inaya’s parents.”

“I can’t!” Arien said, looking all around. “I can’t be the one to do it because I have to give her a parting gift if I see her and I don’t have any nice rocks!”

So Leyta gave him a bracelet with a large inset opal, and smaller jades all around it. “Take this to her and tell her which kinds of stones are in it, and tell her she can wear it as a bracelet if she wants, or take it apart for the stones, whichever she prefers.”

Later she heard that Inaya collapsed on the ground crying when he made the offer, but that her lady-in-waiting reassured Arien that this wasn’t abnormal – that she did this whenever her emotions were too strong to control, even if they were happy emotions. Inaya confirmed that she was crying from relief and joy, because she had always thought that no man would ever want to marry her and if one did, he would hate her rocks and want her to do normal womanly things like embroidery or something, which she wasn’t good at in the slightest because her coordination was bad and she was always poking the needle into the wrong place, and she had never imagined that she would ever find a man who understood her and didn’t demand that she look in his eyes and liked to listen to her talk about what she loved. Then Arien asked her very gravely if she liked hugs, because most of the time he didn’t like hugs, especially when they were a surprise, but if she would like a hug he really wanted to give her one. They hugged, and declared mutual love (“as far as I can define the feeling of love, anyway,” Inaya said, “because I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before, so how can I know for sure that that’s what this is?” Arien had agreed with her, but said “I think that even if what we’re feeling isn’t the same kind of thing as other people feel when they’re in love, it’s close enough that we can use the same word, because who wants to have to make up a new word?” And then they spent several minutes amusing each other to the point of hysterical laughter in making up new words that sounded ridiculous, sometimes repeating them to each other ten or a dozen times.) When Inaya finally had to leave, Arien cried.

Leyta wasn’t there for any of that, but her spies were everywhere in the castle.

***

When the Dowager demanded that she explain her test, Leyta summoned Arien, who had washed his face so it looked more as if he had had a terrible runny nose and sneezes than that he’d been crying.

“You asked me about what it would prove, to put peas in the bed,” Leyta said, “and I was looking for two things, but one was more important than the other.”

“What were you looking for?” Arien asked.

“Arien… you know that you’re a special young man, and different in some ways than other people your age. I’ve consulted with many scholars. Children like you are often strangely sensitive to things that other people don’t notice… often to the point where it’s unpleasant. Such as your feelings about onions.”

He shuddered. “Please do not remind me of the existence of those devil vegetables.”

Leyta laughed. The Dowager scowled. Leyta knew she preferred that a king, or a crown prince who’d just been betrothed, have a serious demeanor. She also knew that Arien would be who he was, no matter what anyone asked him to be.

“So I thought, the peas might be noticeable to some of the girls, but they would be especially notable to a girl who was like Arien. More importantly, if a girl noticed it but claimed she didn’t… Arien, I know you are often taken off guard by lies, and you’re a very honest man yourself. I know you would prefer a wife who will tell you when something makes her unhappy, rather than her trying to guess how you feel about it and then telling you what she thinks you want to hear.”

Arien nodded. “Nobody can see inside someone else’s mind, so why would anyone even do that?”

“I wanted a girl who would be honest about something she found unpleasant, even if she had to offend her host to admit it. But, obviously, kindness and compassion and a lack of malice about it were necessary as well… we don’t want a Carinna anywhere near the rulership of the kingdom.”

“You can say that again,” Arien said. Leyta suspected he was setting her up so she could tell a joke.

“But I won’t, because I know you heard it the first time,” she said, smiling.

The Dowager frowned. “So you picked a girl who has the same kinds of problems as Arien? Was that wise? The kingdom may need rulers who understand the idea of telling lies when they must, who can be charming and adept with politics. I thought you’d pick a girl who would cover Arien’s weaknesses, not one with the same issues.”

“Your son understood me,” Leyta said simply. “It was an arranged marriage, but we quickly grew to love each other, because we respected and we understood each other. I don’t want the kingdom to have a queen who resents her husband because she thinks he’s strange… who may play politics behind the scenes to have him killed so she can take power. Or who takes lovers, so we don’t know if the royal blood is even in the heirs. It’s more important to me that Arien’s wife respects him and understands him, and that he understands and respects her, than to have rulers who can detect all the subterranean undercurrents of a conversation. That’s what spymasters are for… and Dowager mothers and grandmothers, and perhaps even younger sisters.”

“Mother,” Arien said, “thank you. I know the people think I’m strange, and maybe I am, but you’ve always watched out for me. I didn’t even know I needed to find a wife who wouldn’t lie to protect my feelings until you pointed it out, and now it’s obvious.” He looked at the Dowager. “And Grandmother, Inaya does complement me. I understand mathematics, and finance, and things like that. She was trained by her parents to understand logistics, so she could run the castle, but she went deeper with it; she understands things about what kind of weather will do things to the crops and what will happen to the farmers when that occurs, things I never even thought about asking. Together I think she and I can make our country one of the most prosperous and happy nations in the world.”

***

And so it came to be. Prince Arien and Princess Inaya were wed in a lovely ceremony that they immediately fled to go on their honeymoon as soon as the marriage vows were taken. They understood the economics of the nation, and other nations, as few kings and queens ever did, and when they needed someone to tell them that someone else was lying, they had the Dowager Leyta and Princess Celia. The country prospered as it never had before, with no beggars on the streets of the cities, because the King and Queen gave homes to those who had none, and living expenses to those too sick or weak or lacking in some ability so that they couldn’t work.

It would be a lie to say they lived happily ever after, because no human can be happy all the time, and they had arguments and problems in their relationship from time to time. But even Arien the Honest and his Queen would agree that we can say they lived mostly happily for the rest of their lives.

[antipodeanpineapplelump]

Dear Starshot, I recently saw your latest artwork for #Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura and I am DYING to learn more about this AU. If you're comfortable sharing, is there anything you can disclose about it?? Is this related to the ItaShi Indiana Jones AU you mentioned before?!!?!?!?!!

Hi Birk, thank you so much for dropping by with this ask! Are you really voluntarily asking me to talk about my current obsession and fanfic baby though? Because I warn you, you may live to regret that!!!

"Shisui Uchiha and the Lost Treasure of Asura" is now the official title of my ItaShi Indiana Jones AU. I realise it’s been over a year since I first mentioned it, and it’s still a WIP! Pretty sure that says absolutely nothing good about the speed of my writing, but a lot about how busy my life outside of fandom is. Anyhow, it’s definitely one of those AUs that’s got away on me. I was planning one story initially, but now it’s kind of turned into three (plus a cracky oneshot), and this is just the first.

I’ve planned nine chapters total so far, but the bane of my life is currently number four. It’s sitting at 16,000 words and counting. Succinct writing? I’ve certainly never heard of it… So anyway, I kind of hit a wall there and decided to take a little break to come back with fresh eyes. That’s how I ended up working on the art instead. But I’d say I’m probably about halfway through the first draft (47,000-ish words).

I recently shared the opening scene and my draft cover artwork here. Ummm… what else can I tell you? Madara is the main bad guy, and he’s definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Shisui is an agent of disaster and chaos. Itachi is really… not. So their initial interactions go about as well as you could expect.

All the main characters have extensive back stories. I’m pretty sure you’re already familiar with my Machiavellian worldbuilding tendencies from reading Red Dawn, so it goes without saying I have just as many notes and plans, and as much fleshed out worldbuilding for this story too. And it will take a long time for all of that to be revealed! But the overarching theme is probably found family, which is different to anything I’ve done before.

At this risk of revealing too much, or boring you to tears, I’ll finish with another sneak peek, this time from Itachi’s POV:

When Itachi wakes, there’s nothing to suggest his day is going to be anything but routine.

He gets up at dawn as per usual, eating breakfast at the dining table alone, legs tucked beneath him on a comfortable zabuton. The solitude at this hour of day is something he prefers. It’s the only time the family home is quiet anymore—lacking the cold disapproval of his father’s increasingly judgemental lectures, the anger of his younger brother’s rebellion, or the resigned acquiescence of his mother.

By now, Fugaku should have left for work, and it’s still too early for Sasuke to be awake, given how late he’s been staying out at night. Either to irritate their father, or just avoid him entirely, he’s taken to frequenting the clubs and bars in Osaka. Mostly, he comes home. Some nights, he doesn’t.

More often than not, even when he is home his door is closed, the thumping bass line of some song or another seeping out from beneath it. Likely because he knows this angers their father even more than the leather jackets and spiked punk-rock hair style he now sports.

Part of Itachi has been glad to discover his brother possesses more of a spine than he ever has. But at the same time, Sasuke’s rejection of every last one of their father’s rules has only brought more unwanted scrutiny to Itachi’s far more minor transgressions. It’s as though, having decided his younger child is a lost cause, Fugaku now wants to be absolutely certain his eldest son and heir to the Uchiha family fortune is beyond reproach. To smother him with expectations until he emerges, a diamond from beneath the pressure.

But unbeknownst to Fugaku, Itachi has one flaw he can’t change. And it means that, no matter what, he’ll always be a failure in his father’s eyes.

Sighing, he swallows a mouthful of rice and fish, washing it down with the sweetened barley tea he favours. Pulling this month’s edition of Modern Archaeology across the table, he inspects its glossy cover and promptly chokes on his drink.

The face that smiles up from the page stokes a knot of hot irritation in his gut. Furiously, he skips to the article, skim-reading the text, despite the fact he knows it will only annoy him further.

"An up-and-coming star in the field of archaeology, particularly specialising in South-American cultures, Shisui Uchiha is an increasingly well-known fixture of the San Diego research scene. Curiously for someone so entrenched in the study of history, he is famously reticent when it comes to his own. ‘I did spend my early years in Japan,’ he confirms when pressed. ‘But I haven’t been back in a long time. The United States is my home now.’ Asked about his connection to the famous Uchiha family, he merely winks enigmatically. ‘Never heard of them,’ he says, before asking if we’d like a one-on-one tour of the dig site.

Equally at home in dusty ruins as surfing the palm-lined SoCal beaches, or scaling the cliffs of his native Joshua Tree National Park, he nonetheless shines in group settings too. At the party we attend that evening, to celebrate the opening of a new Aztec exhibit at the Museo Nacional de Antropología in Mexico City, he easily charms the crowd, finishing the night with at least half a dozen new admirers. It’s not hard to see why they like him. A conversation with Shisui is exercise in passion and obscure historical knowledge. Even so, much like the dig sites he frequents, it’s hard to say just how much of what he presents to the world runs more than surface-deep.

His motto in life? ‘Fall seven times, stand up eight,’ Shisui says with a charismatic smile. Where did he learn it? Chuckling, he brushes us off. ‘The school of hard knocks.’

Love him or hate him, one thing is certain—we haven’t seen the last of Shisui Uchiha’s brand of archaeology.”

Hate him, Itachi thinks, sipping his tea viciously enough to scald his tongue and immediately regretting it. Definitely hate. Hate how he’s reckless, impulsive, irresponsible, and doesn’t seem to take a single thing seriously. Hate that it looks like he’s never had to work hard for anything a day in his life—people only too happy to hand him whatever he wants on a silver platter, charmed by a pretty smile. Hate the fact that, despite their shared family name, he’s free to do whatever he likes. Hate the way people flock to him, falling into his orbit—and by all accounts, bed—like it’s somehow inevitable. And hate, most of all, that there’s a small part of Itachi which understands why.

Because hate or love him—and it’s definitely hate—there’s no denying that Shisui Uchiha is, objectively, a very attractive man.

Coming back to his senses and realising he’s been leaning over the magazine, frowning so hard his forehead hurts, Itachi straightens, closing his eyes and massaging the knot of tension out from between his eyebrows.

“Itachi—”

The tension sinks in even deeper. He opens his eyes. “Father.”

Fugaku takes in magazine, then his son, and Itachi really hopes his cheeks aren’t as flushed as they feel. It’s stupid, but merely knowing he feels the way he does about the man on the page makes him fear being caught. As though his father might somehow divine his deepest darkest secret, just by looking. Truthfully, Itachi sometimes wonders if he might not already know, or at least suspect. But if he does, it’s clearly a truth he’s chosen not to acknowledge.

“I take it you’re prepared for our meeting this evening?” Fugaku asks, grim as ever.

Attempting a composed sip of his tea, Itachi nods. “Yes. Of course.”

Mouth a hard, unyielding line, Fugaku makes some indiscernible noise of disapproval, sweeping an appraising glance over Itachi. “Well, I suppose it’s too much to hope that anything can be done about your hair between then and now. But they’re a modern family. New money. Perhaps it won’t matter so much.”

Fingers tightening into the flesh of his thigh, Itachi has to remind himself to breathe. “I will do my best to make a good impression,” he says, inclining his head towards his father, penitence for his innumerable shortcomings—not least of all the choice to grow his hair out. It’s a small act of rebellion compared to Sasuke’s effort, but one his father seems determined to curtail as promptly as possible.

Poker face easing ever so slightly, Fugaku’s brows trend downwards, though their slant is still severe. “I know. You are my son, after all. And it is high time you were married with a family of your own. Perhaps then you will see the value in giving up these frivolous academic pursuits, and taking your rightful place at the head of the family business.”

He might as well build a box and stuff Itachi into it. Mold him to fit his own vision of the future. But Itachi has long since learnt that what he wishes he could have from life, and what he can have, are two very different things. So, just like his infrequent clandestine trips to the less desirable areas of Osaka’s nightlife, this too, he realises he will have to sacrifice. Duty before self.

“Yes Father, I’m certain you’re right,” he says, bowing once more as Fugaku leaves for work, closing the front door behind him with a click that reeks of finality.

As his footsteps crunch away on the gravel path outside, Itachi can’t help clenching his fists, until long after his knuckles turn white.

Theoretically, it’s a good match. From a family of good standing, his potential bride is quiet and well spoken—the perfect future housewife and mother. Their marriage would kill two birds with one stone, giving her father the son he never had, and Itachi—and therefore by extension Fugaku—control of their biggest competitor’s business.

All it requires is for Itachi spend the rest of his life pretending to be something he’s not.

The weight of it burns tight in his throat, threatening to break free on a rising tide of bile. He longs to cast off his gilded shackles, take a leaf from Sasuke’s book and do something completely crazy.

With a sigh, he rises from the table, collecting his dishes and depositing them circumspectly into the sink. Another day of work awaits.

[ticklishtypings]

Ticklish Tutorial (Todo x Deku)

A/N: This took me THREE days to write, holy crap. But it was so much fun to write and I loved some of the personsl headcanons I weasled in there as well. I hope you enjoy <3

Disclaimer: This is a sfw tickle fanfic (I do not do nsfw for any fandom)

Summary: Shouto Todoroki had a hard upbringing, that was known to all. But to have no affection whatsoever? It shocked Izuku when he found out the poor boy had no idea what tickling was but he is more than happy to show him what it is.

Word Count: 1,680

It wasn't a secret amongst class 1-A that Shouto had a rough upbringing. They tried to help him experience things he never got to due to his fathers' "training," so it wasn't a surprise to Midoryia that he had probably never experienced tickling before. Endeavor considered anything that brings pleasure to a weakness that can be used against you in combat. In short words, the boy never received affection, and he always shied away from anything considered remotely close to it.

“No way, you’re ticklish?” Izuku exclaimed, watching the taller boy look at him strangely. 

They had been doing physical training after school, organized by Ida, but before hand they paired up to stretch, Midoryia and Todoroki got paired together. They had been doing simple stretches alongside crunches. Todoroki asked him to hold his feet down, which was a bit hard since he went so fast. It resulted in Izuku having to dig his hands into his feet a bit, his thumbs drilling a bit into the arch of his foot. He wasn’t expecting the son of the #2 hero to cough up a laugh. 

“Todoroki! Are- are you okay?” His voice was full of concern. 

“Yeah. You didn’t hurt me. I don’t know what you did.” He rubbed his foot, trying to get the tingly feeling to go away. 

“What? I was just holding down your feet- wait. Todoroki..no way, you’re ticklish?” 

He had heard that word before, amongst the group, as they engaged in many tickle fights before. But he himself had no clue as to whether or not he was ticklish. 

“I don’t know.” He answered truthfully, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. 

“What do you mean you don’t know? How do you not know?” 

“I just don’t know. It was never in my life.” 

Midoryia felt his heart pang a little bit. How has he never been tickled? Not even by the group? No one dared touch him probably..

Mischievous eyes fell upon the bi-colored hair boy, who shot his friend a worried glance. His mischief left his eyes and was replaced by sympathy instead. 

“Are you okay with me trying to tickle you? Just a quick one, to you know, see if you’re ticklish? We won’t do anything more than you’re comfortable with.” 

“I guess.” He shrugged, he knew Midoryia would probably tell the others and once Kirishima or Kaminari found out they would try to figure it out as well. 

“Okay, I’m going to tickle your sides, they’re commonly ticklish.” Izuku stated before he reached both hands out to squeeze his sides. 

Todoroki watched his hands approach, his body automatically squirming. Why was he moving? Why was his heart racing? What was happening? Sensations. Wiggling hands met sides. The sound was music to Midoryia’s ears, Shoto’s laughter. It was soft, kind of quiet, and had an almost child-like bubbliness to it. It was almost intoxicating. A blush formed on the cheeks of both of them. 

“You are ticklish! That’s funny, but as promised, that was it. Wanna keep doing reps?” Izuku gestured to himself, starting to stand up to continue the training. 

“Do it again.” Was all Todoroki said, his face full of sincerity yet seemed to be confused. 

He wanted to feel it again, to feel what he’s been missing out on all these years. To feel loved. To feel something, and with tickling he felt so much. He felt happy, loved, carefree. 

“Todoroki-kun? Are you sure? You want me to tickle you?” He questioned, unsure if he heard him correctly. 

“Yes. Why won’t you?” God, the boy didn’t experience tickling enough to understand that most people hate being tickled and that it isn’t a common thing to just outright ask for it. 

He felt his heart soften though, the boy found something he enjoyed and probably reminded him of something he didn’t have. Who was he to deny him? He got everything in life, especially motherly love.. 

“Okay, but you need to tell me when to truly stop, we’ll have a safe word. Icyhot.” Todoroki rolled his eyes at that. “Do you want me to tickle you gently or maybe something Bakugo style?” 

He could sense a little fear in the bi-color haired boy once he mentioned Bakugo’s method of tickling. Once Bakugo starts on you, you don’t get a single break until you’re about to pass out. Maybe that was too rough for a first time, maybe they should start with something gentler. 

“We don’t have to do that! I swear! It was just a stupid suggestion!” Midoryia began apologizing, not wanting to ruin his experience with tickling so fast. 

“Midoryia, just tickle me.” There was a hint of desperation in his voice, and Izuku calmed down now, realizing it didn’t have to be anything special, he just wanted the action itself as it was. 

He instructed the boy to lay on his back, asking permission to straddle his waist (which was given) before going further. 

“Do you want any type of restraint? Or would you feel more comfortable with none at all?” He was quick to answer that he didn’t want to be restricted, a bit of anxiety coming with that answer as well that Midoryia picked up on. 

Gently, he began to spider the lee’s sides, starting off experimentally. It wasn’t crazy ticklish there, but it got him squirming and a smile forming. Drifting from his sides he went more towards his midsection, traveling up to his ribs. Applying a bit more pressure now, a few giggles escaped. 

“Come on, Shoto. Let me hear that cute laugh of yours.” He gently teased, he knew Todoroki wasn’t used to teases, and he didn’t want to patronize him or make him feel helpless. He was rewarded by the giggles turning into belly laughs, the same laugh he heard earlier, the one that caught his heart. 

Midoryia switched up tactics from scribbling against his ribs to massaging. God, the boy damn near screamed! He kept thrashing from left to right, but primarily to the right. There was warmth on his fingers suddenly...actually...all over his body. But only on the left side? 

“Todoroki? Are you okay? You’re getting warm, are you trying not to use your quirk?” He asked, genuinely concerned. 

“N-no. Uhm,” He was trying to calm down a bit to answer, “When I blush my entire left side gets a bit warmer.” 

Midoryia couldn’t help but smile, that was the cutest shit ever. He continued, curious about where else the boy was ticklish at. His ribs seemed to be a hot spot but he wanted to explore new places. Skittering his fingers up to the boys neck now, he was rewarded with louder laughs. 

“MIHIHIHDORYIHIHIA!” Todoroki happily laughed out, his hands trying to grasp the fingers teasing his neck and collarbone. 

“Yes, Todoroki?” But no answer came, just more happy laughter. 

Todoroki has never felt this...this...relaxed. There was absolutely nothing on his mind except the tickly feeling and how nice it was. 

“What if I tickle here? Does that tickle?” Those damn teases followed by wiggling fingers traveling towards his underarms but there was no response.

“It does not. Why does it not? Am I broken?” His voice seemed sad, as if tickling was an item that he damaged. 

“No! No, not at all. Some people just aren’t as ticklish in some areas while others are. Like for example, uhm. You may not be ticklish here but you could be ticklish elsewhere...like...here!” He scanned his body, trying to find an odd place to be ticklish before his eyes fell upon the boy’s hands.

Midoryia glided his fingernails carefully over his palms, noticing his eyes widen and giggles stream from his mouth. Squirming constantly, it was hard to stay on top of him. 

“Wow, Todoroki-kun! You’re really ticklish here! I wonder if it will work on you...it always worked on Bakugo when we were kids...” The statement made him shiver, if it worked on Bakugo of all people what was in store for him? 

Shoto eyed the green haired boy as he lifted his palm to his lips and blew. His eyes didn’t stay on him long though, he threw his head back cackling, his back completely arched. The sensation was overwhelming, his mind couldn’t focus on anything other than the tingling sensation that shot all over his hand and up his arm. He could barely catch his breath before Midoryia blew rapsberry. He tried pushing his head away, wildly kicking his feet, tiny fire sparks coming off him on one side and little snowflakes off the other. 

“PLEHEHEHE!” He couldn’t even form a sentence!

“You know the safeword if the tickling is too tickly for the number one ticklish hero~” Midoryia teased, continuing to scratch and trace the little lines on his palm. 

“IIHIHIHICY HOHOHOHOT!!” He pleaded, tears of mirth streaming down his face. 

The tickling came to an immediate halt and Midoryia got off his classmate, who immediately curled up into a ball grabbing his midsection, still drunk off giggles. 

“Are you okay? Did- did I go to far? I’m sorry if I did-” Mindless rambles poured out of Izuku’s mouth before being interrupted. 

“No. It was fun. Thank you, Midoryia. I can see why everyone engages in this play around school. They never include me though.” He seemed to be confused as to why he was left out of something fun. 

“I’m unsure, I don’t think they meant it Shoto, but I don’t think that will last too much longer. I’ll make sure of it.” He smiled, playfully teasing his palm, causing ice to shoot out and make Midoryia scream. 

“You could of done that the entire time?!” 

“Yes. But you weren’t hurting me, so there was no reason to. You caught me off guard this time.” 

“Right, okay, note to self: you need to be aware before you’re tickled or else I might die.” That got a Todoroki chuckle (basically a puff of air) as they both stood up. 

“Continue practice?” Todoroki suggested. 

“You aren’t tired?!” 

“No, why would I be tired? All you did was tickle me.”

[aelaer]

Re: Blood in Your Veins

Hey so uh.

As anyone who’s been following me for a while knows, I started the serial “The Blood In Your Veins” about this time last year (it used to be ‘my veins’ but retitled it on its move to AO3 because execution of prompt had changed a bit over writing). It’s a prompt that I couldn’t stop thinking about and just dabbled in slowly to see where it went. Then 2020 fully hit and my writing came to almost a complete stop until about October, which is when I began again on Illuminating the Shadows, which was finished and posted in December.

Anyway, I’ve been poking and prodding fairly continuously at The Blood in Your Veins. The first four parts that I posted originally here on tumblr are now all on AO3, and once part 5′s up I’ll link it here and link everyone who wanted alerts to the updates then so they can see the new part. Then all future parts will be linked here as well.

(Cut because why the *hell* did I write this much about this?)

I’ve been slow in posting because I, against better judgement but why not, decided to post it as a WIP. But that means I keep on making edits to older parts because I think of something new that should be addressed earlier in the story. Like uh, when I was writing part 9, I realized I needed to go back to part 5 and add an addendum. When I was writing part 12, I realized I totally forgot a part that I ended up adding in part 8, because I needed it for a future connection. This happens all the time in my writing and makes posting WIPs almost dangerous because my thinking is rarely linear if the story takes place over a course of more than a couple days. Thus the very slow posting.

So this silly little prompt thing that I was just prodding and poking at to see where it went? The farking doc passed 50k words tonight. Yup.

Granted, like 10k of that is probably outlining, personal notes, and A/Ns filled to the brim with meta, medical science, fake science, and technical/computer engineering because I love talking about it and giving people info to access easily for their own knowledge. I figure I can’t be the only one who finds this stuff super fascinating and fanfic makes it unique in that it’s not a book where the research is irrelevant, you can show off all the interesting stuff right here and talk about it with people! I love that about fanfic, so much. Sometimes the A/Ns are just as interesting as the story in some stories.

So it’s gonna be a bit slow for however long, but I finished 11 parts (with 10 betaed), have the 12th largely written out (though I’m not 100% sure about it yet so I want to poke at it more), and parts uh, 13 to 17ish outlined. But considering I was like “yeah this is 8 parts at most” like, at the beginning of this, that number is bound to change because characters keep saying things and doing things (including the supporting OCs, who are demanding to be fully fleshed out within the bounds of supporting character roles).

And yeah, this is just a ramble of what I’ve been mostly doing as I haven’t been super active on tumblr this month as this has consumed most of my free time. I haven’t read a lot of works either, and once this is completed I hope to remedy that, before I go into my next two big projects (which were meant to be what I was working on *now*, but then this took over and what will you do. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to complete three novel-length fics in the course of the year, but I’ll see what I can do. I really want to tell these stories).

Uh, this was really long. Sorry, I’m super verbose and don’t know how to be like, succinct. My old boss, two bosses ago now, used to quote Twain about brevity being a sign of wit, but if it is, call me 100% unwitty because I like to ramble. And then I always feel a little bit guilty for writing *so much* about my bullshit, so I feel like if you read this far, you 100% deserve to read a preview of an upcoming section. Especially since you pressed the Read More button! So here you go, thanks for reading my rambles. This is a section from the longest part so far, part 8. It’s a long little bit!

---

"How high's the toxicity now?" Tony asked as he stepped off the scale.

"Yesterday's blood sample came back at 0.45 milligrams per kilogram of your weight," Stephen replied. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

Tony offered his arm for the blood draw. "And if 3 milligrams is the magic number for fatality, that'd put my current blood toxicity at 15%."

Stephen inserted the needle at the crook of Tony's elbow and watched the tube fill up. "That's not quite how it works."

"It makes sense to me."

"That's still not how it works." He removed the needle and capped the tube, and as he put everything away, explained, "Saying that your blood toxicity is at 15% implies that you're talking about the whole volume of blood in your body. You're probably at about 5,500 milliliters with your weight, and with the density of blood equaling about 1.06 grams per milliliter, it is like you're saying—"

"That 874.5 grams of my blood is toxic, yeah, yeah, I know," Tony interrupted. By now he was setting up the table for their breakfast.

"I was getting there."

"You were going too slow," he shot back easily. Stephen gave the engineer a look at the comment, but Tony ignored it. "Yeah, I know it's not my whole body's blood volume. Obviously. But putting a percentage on how long until I reach the point that I'm dead makes sense to me. I'm not measuring the whole volume of my blood, I'm measuring how much more can I handle until I'm dead."

Stephen shot him a frown. "It doesn't make sense to call it 'blood toxicity' then."

"Maybe not to you, but it does to me. And I'd design such a measuring tool for me."

The statement caught him off guard. "Design?" He finished packing up the kit and joined Tony at the table.

"Well, if I wasn't stuck in here, I'd design something to automatically read a blood sample, like how glucose meters read blood sugar levels. Wouldn't be hard to engineer something like that. And I'd have it give me the amount of toxicity as a percentage relating to how far along it was until the amount was lethal. Sure, I could memorize the numbers, but the percentage would be more concrete in my head."

Stephen smeared butter over a piece of bread as he listened. He shook his head at the end of Tony's explanation. "Wouldn't work for the consumer market; there's too much room for interpretation as to what the percentage means."

Tony huffed. "Well, like I said, it'd be for me. Not the consumer market."

His brow furrowed. "You're telling me that you can make a blood test as simple as the one used for testing blood sugar levels for something as rare as palladium poisoning?"

He narrowed his eyes. "... yes…"

"You can make it portable like the glucose meters?"

"Yeah, of course."

"And affordable to most hospitals?"

Tony looked up in thought. "I don't usually factor in the costs of materials and manufacturing in personal projects, and others do the number crunching to see if my ideas are viable for production in company projects. If they aren't, but I really want them to be, I'll tinker a bit more, sure."

Stephen couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Do you realize the amount of money you could save for both hospitals and patients across the country with such technology? Specialized blood tests—like for many metal poisonings, for instance—aren't offered at every hospital. It may not be available even in every state. Those types of lab results can take weeks to get back to a doctor and the patient. And you're saying that you can not only potentially create this type of technology, but that you may be able to make it affordable if you really want them to be?"

"Well yeah, sure. I've done it a few times with other things. I could probably do that with a blood meter thing. I doubt the tech's that complicated."

His mouth was partially hanging open, Stephen realized this, but he couldn't bother at the moment. He was flabbergasted. The first thought that came to mind went to his mouth, unfiltered. "And you spent the last two decades building weapons."

"Don't." The word was sharp and filled with an overabundance of emotion.

Stephen fell silent. He crossed a boundary he had yet to see before now, and he was not so callous as to push against it. Instead he turned to his meal and focused on eating. He avoided looking at the other man.

A couple minutes later, Tony spoke again. It was low, pensive. Thoughtful. "There was a good reason I shut down weapons manufacturing after I got back from Afghanistan, you know. If the department ever comes back, it will be with major restrictions and modifications. Likely more defensive than offensive. More shields, less missiles. But in the meantime I've been restructuring. Expanded in commercial aerospace and industry. We entered the energy market properly. Consumer products is coming soon—end of the year, probably." A pause. "Don't see why we can't look into medical tech, either. Certainly wouldn't hurt to try."

He could only nod and say, "It certainly wouldn't."

[bi-cookie]

“All We Have Is Now”

— chapter i | chapter ii

⇾ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Ethan Ramsey x Kinsley Kentwood

⇾ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠(𝐬): angst / accident / heartbreak? / typos.

⇾ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.2k

⇾ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐲: After a long day at work, all Kinsley wanted to do was get home and curl up with her boyfriend and celebrate their love. But sadly fate had other plans for her.

⇾ 𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: for a better heartbreaking experience please do listen to this song while reading.

⇾ 𝐀/𝐍: You know I’ve been thinking I’ve been writing fluff and melting hearts what if I broke hearts instead ? So I’ve decided to make a series out of my choices November challenge entry. Does this story have the potential to become a series ? who knows my one brain cells says yes. Do let me know if i should to continue or just spare everyone and stop.

Also I know nothing about medicine is I apologize in advance if the information google provided is not correct.

Tagging: @cxld-play ✯ @it-lives-everywhere ✯ @nyssa-loves-choices ✯ @malakbesharah ✯ @hayden-deserves-better ✯ @cordoniaqueensworld ✯ @warrior-queen-kenna ✯ @lives-for-fanfics ✯ @ab1901 ✯

[ do let me know if you want be tagged / removed ]

𑁍 Chapter ii: hold on 𑁍

It’s been six months now since they’ve moved in together and what a blissful six month have they been.

The roads were all covered in rain, it was pouring like crazy and despite the frantic scraping of her windshield wipers the rain drops won’t stop hitting on the window. Fresh off of a ridiculously long shift at the hospital filled with the usual bad weather car accidents and shoveling mishaps, Kinsley blinked rapidly, in an attempt to wake herself up; when a text popped up her phone.

Grinning like a schoolgirl she typed away her replay, when another text message lit up her screen but before she could answer it and barely looking up ahead; she accelerated again, lost in her thoughts. All she wanted to do was to get home, curl up with her boyfriend and celebrate their love. But sadly fate had other plans.

A horn blared from her right. Kinsley snapped her head to the right just in time to see a car barreling towards her at a speed that's much too fast, its headlights illuminating the inside of the car, before the cars collide with an earth-shattering crunch.

Everything happened in slow motion. The blonde doctor’s head slammed against the window, shattering the glass. The airbags deployed upon impact. Her seat belt tightened and yanked painfully at the skin of her exposed neck. The car slid across the slippery rainy streets until it hit the curb, rocking precariously, and finally coming to a stop.

[ Meanwhile back at the apartment.. ]

Ethan sat his phone back on the kitchen counter, heading towards the dining table, making sure every is perfect. There laid two plates of ravioli. The little white parcels were wonderfully fresh, filled with wild mushrooms, and served with a salad of mixed greens and parmesan cheese. She loved Italian food so much and he knew all her favorite dishes, he often cooked them for her; he was a great cook and Kinsley loved that about him amongst other things.

Ethan poured in two glasses of wine as he smiled to himself too giddy with excitement. Pacing around he waited for her arrival, the clock in his head is silently counting down the minutes until he sees her beautiful face again.

When suddenly he heard a loud crash right outside their apartment building. He turned around startled looking out the window to see the cause of the loud crash.

His face turned pale, his heart sprunt out his chest his soul almost left his body. Ethan wasn’t a religious man but in that moment he prayed so hard; he prayed to every god known to man, that this wasn’t her, all the way in the elevator he prayed with his hands clutching his heart.

He ran out of the apartment building sprinting towards the commotion only to find her sliver Audi wrecked along the sidewalk turned upside down.

The dark car interior floods with a bright yellow light. As he rushed towards it.

“KINSLEY!!”

He yelled trying to open up the car door.

Through the shattered window, he could see the blood dripping down her cheek from a cut on her forehead, and she appeared to be unconscious. Clawing the door wide open he carried his girlfriend out laying her gently on the pavement. He proceeded to check her pulse only to find it weak and barely even there, he then placed his hand lightly on her forehead and very gently tilted back her head. Once she regained her breathing, Ethan fumbles in his pockets, searching for his cell phone. His fingers were shaky when he dialed the number. Help is on the way, the operator promised him. The lady on the other line tried to keep him talking, but then the girl in front of him started groaning and probing the cut on her forehead, she started shivering, her skin deathly pale against the blood on her temple.

“Hey wake up don’t fall asleep on me rookie, I’m not going anywhere.” He assured her cupping her face.

“E t h a n .... i l o v e—,” she whispered the last part before fading into complete darkness.

Silence.

A few moments later. The flashing lights of an ambulance pulling up behind them. As they carried her away Ethan let out a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

At exactly 9:54 pm doctor Kentwood was rushed to Edenbrook with a two fractured ribs, a broken ankle, and a severe concussion! She went immediately into surgery.

[ Edenbrook’s Hospital — 1:47am ]

It’s been hours since the love of his life was rushed into surgery, his heart was beating a million miles an hours. The thought of losing her impacted every part of his being. To call it “walking in a daze”, doesn't approach the dark clouds that amass inside his skull. There is a mental tornado in there; which no-one can see nor comprehend. The nausea swirled unrestrained in his empty stomach, his head swam with half-formed regrets. His heart felt as if the blood had become tar as it struggled to keep a steady beat. Too lost in his thoughts and emotions to notice Doctor Banerji approaching him with a sad look on his face.

“Ethan..” he said taking a seat next to him; his voice soft yet filled with so much sadness.

“We did the best we could Ethan, but she lost a lot of blood and the concussion was too much for her body to handle, her fiber nerves have been torn apart. We had to put her in a medically induced coma to slavish her mind and let it rest otherwise we’d be killing her.”

Just as those last words left Naveen’s mouth, everything around him went silent hearing nothing but the static nose of everything crashing down on him, flashbacks of the accident came before him and as much as he tried to hold it in, the pain came out like an uproar from his throat in the form of a silent scream. The beads of water started falling down one after another, without a sign of stopping, the tears were not quiet and controlled– they fell as fast as the fall rain and he sobbed to draw breath. His lungs heaved and he knew there was no cure for his aching heart.

Naveen put a hand on his back in a failed attempt to comfort him, as the older doctor got up hitting the wall of the waiting room trying to scream to make sense of it all, but nothing came out. The muffled sobs wracked against his chest. The world turned into a blur, and so did all the sounds, the taste and the smell. Everything was gone. The mere thought of her beautiful smile kept replaying on repeat in his mind over and over again, every single memory they had together kept on playing in his mind. His eyes were tearing up, an entire life they could’ve had together just vanished before his eyes; he was a doctor after all he knew what being put in a medically induced coma with the state she was brought in meant... She might never wake up.

To be continued..

[roxannarambles]

This is me playing around again with ideas, after I saw a fanfic with a premise I liked and wanted to toy with the idea myself. (Premise: Little My rifles through Snufkin’s tent and finds sappy poetry about Moomin)

just a doodly drabble!

"Hey! Hey, Moomin! Hello up there!"

"Hello there, Little My!"

About two thirds up a birch tree, Moomin twisted around and waved down below. Little My hopped up and down impatiently.

"Come down here, I got somethin' to tell you!"

"Oh, okay. Why don't you come up here though? It's a nice view!"

"No, you come down here! And hurry up, you're gonna wanna hear this!"

Moomin grumbled-- he'd only just climbed up--but he relented and started climbing back down the tree again. It took a minute or two, during which Little My looked like she was going to pop from waiting. As he neared the bottom branches, she started shouting at him anyway.

"Wow Moomin you're slow, next time I might not even wait! What I'm about to tell you's a big secret, okay? Boy, you're lucky I decided to share! This is really special, I found it out just now!"

Moomin's eyes grew wide and he stopped climbing, paused on the last branch.

"Well what is it? What did you find out?"

Little My's smile we delighted and almost devious as she reported,

"It's about Snufkin!"

Moomin's eyes grew even bigger.

"Wh-what? A secret about Snufkin? What are you talking about?"

Little My rubbed her chin thoughtfully.

"Hmmm, how much should I tell you, though?"

Moomin felt himself tensing up, his grip tightening on the birch branch. Was this going to be something bad? He glowered down at her.

"Come on, Little My, don't tease me, tell me what's going on!"

Little My just laughed.

"Don't be such a spoilsport, Moomin. This is really fun for me. Anyway, Snufkin writes poetry about you and hides it in his tent."

"He-- WHAT?!" Moomin slipped off-balance, spinning his arms, and briefly scrambled to catch the branch again. He failed and went crashing down to the ground, crunching into a bush.

"Aren't you a graceful one?"

"What do you mean, Little My?! Snufkin-- he-- he doesn't even write poetry! At least not that I know of."

"Well that's cos it's secret, duh!"

Moomin struggled to unstuck his fur from the pricklies in the bush.

"And how exactly do you know this?"

Little My smirked.

"Because I snuck into his tent and found it, obviously."

"Oh."

Moomin thought for a moment. He wasn't sure whether to believe her or not. Little My had told him a lot of fibs, but she had also told him a lot of things that had ended up being true.

"And were they really about me?"

"Yep! You want to know what it said?"

Moomin shook his head.

"If he really is writing poems and they really are secret, that means he wants them to stay secret. I'll just go ask him about it. He can tell me if he wants to."

"Sheesh, you're way too considerate a friend, Moomin."

Moomin quirked a brow.

"I'm not really sure if I believe you, so it's partly because of that, to be honest."

"Suit yourself. Just be sure to ask him about it!"

"I'm going to right now," Moomin answered, already on his way down the path.

"Oh, can I come? I want to see his reaction!"

"I'd think you'd better not, Little My. He might not tell me if you're there."

Little My scowled.

"Uggh, that's true. Well, tell me about it later then!"

Moomin hadn't heard her, though-- he had run off as fast as his feet would carry him.

-----

Moomin finally found him perched on a fence in the field to the north, next to the path they usually took for the Lonely Mountains. Overjoyed, he bounded over to him, shouting.

"Snufkin! Oh, Snufkin, there you are!"

As he reached the fence, his friend dropped a fond look down upon him.

"Hi, Moomin."

Then he returned to playing his harmonica.

"Hi. Um, I had something I wanted to ask you."

Moomin rubbed the back of his head and hesitated a moment, but Snufkin simply carried on playing. So he just blurted it out.

"Little My told me you've been writing poetry."

Snufkin's music halted abruptly, ending on a few loud, soured notes. His expression didn't change, but he sat very, very still. After a few silent moments, he replied steadily,

"Did she now?"

Moomin looked away, suddenly feeling very nervous under Snufkin's undivided attention.

"Ummm, yes."

Moomin grabbed his own tail and fiddled with the tip of it, willing himself to spit the rest out.

"And I was wondering if . . . maybe . . . that is, if it's all right with you . . . well, you could read some of it sometime to me? I'm sure it's very good and I'd just love to hear it, Snufkin, and it sure would be a treat, I haven't heard any poetry in a while you know, and I had no idea that you wrote any."

After his babbling, he glanced back up. It was hard to tell what Snufkin was thinking. Of course, that was true almost any day.

"Well, I don't know, Moomin. I wouldn't exactly call it poetry. More like silly scribblings. I'm afraid you'd be pretty disappointed."

Moomin perked up, grabbing onto the fence and bouncing.

"Oh, but I'm sure it's wonderful, Snufkin! I really would love to hear it."

Snufkin smiled mildly at him,

"Why don't you ask Moominpapa to read you some poetry? I'm sure it would be much more fun to hear from a real writer. I bet he's created some wonderful epics. He could probably use the encouragement, too."

Moomin sunk down a little, sagging in disappointment.

"O-oh. Well. Yes . . . I could ask him. I might do that. But I really would like to hear what you wrote, Snufkin."

Snufkin chuckled.

"I don't need to bother you with anything so dull as that. I promise, it's nothing special."

Moomin frowned. It was the answer he expected, but it still was unhappy to hear. Why was Snufkin like this? He never seemed to understand-- to understand just how . . . wonderful he was.

"It would be special, though," Moomin muttered stubbornly,

"Just because it came from you."

Snufkin stared at him for a little while, before a smile lit upon his features and seemed to warm his entire face, his auburn eyes glowing softly.

"Thank you, Moomin. I'll make you a deal. If I ever write anything I think is worth reading out loud, I'll be sure to let you know first. All right?"

Moomin's eyes grew wide.

"Really? Do you promise? That's wonderful! Oh, I can't wait!"

Snufkin chuckled again,

"Just realize that day might take quite a while to come. Excuse me a moment, my friend, I have to check on something."

-----

Little My yelped as the world went spinning, a strong grip seizing her by the back of her shirt and yanking her skyward. She kicked and swung her fists about.

"Let go! Let go, I'll fight you!"

"All right, Little My. Where'd you put it?"

Little My crossed her arms as Snufkin brought her up to his eye level, glaring at her.

"Oh, it's you. What's up, Snufkin? You look worried about something."

"Where'd you put it?" he repeated, his voice sounding almost dangerously calm.

"Where'd I put what? I have no idea what you're talking about," Little My answered, grinning openly at him.

He sighed.

"So it's blackmail then, is it? What is it that you want? Gold coins? An exquisite banquet held in your honor?"

"Wow. That poem's really worth a lot to you, isn't it?"

Snufkin narrowed his eyes at her.

"Only because I know you'll make a great big fuss over nothing."

She laughed.

"Nothing?"

"Yes."

Her grin became even smarmier. She clasped her hands together and wore a sappy expression, gushing dramatically:

"Even now I feel his presence,

Soft and pure as the first day of snow,

Winter's gentle caress upon the landscape,

Whisp'ring secrets only lovers know--"

Snufkin whapped a hand over her mouth before she could say anything more.

"Cut that out," he hissed, looking ten different kinds of horrified. Little My squirmed and bit at his hand, so he dropped her unceremoniously to the ground.

"Nothing, huh?" she repeated from the ground, smirking up at him.

"Little My . . . please."

"Oh, relax," she groused, getting up and dusting her clothes off.

"I don't want to blackmail you for money or nothing. There's only one thing I want."

He crossed his arms.

"And what's that?"

She pointed at him.

"If I give the poem back you've gotta read it to Moomin."

He frowned.

"Don't be ridiculous. You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious!"

He stared. Little My stared back, unflinching. After a number of moments, Snufkin seemed to realize she really was serious. He balked at her.

"I can't do that!"

"Hmmph. Would you rather I read it to him instead?"

Snufkin seemed to pale-- he almost looked sick.

"Little My . . . you wouldn't . . . oh, who am I kidding, of course you would."

He scrubbed his face with his hands a moment in exasperation before looking back up at her.

"Give me a little time, all right? It isn't finished, you know. I still need to write the end and do some editing."

Little My eyed him suspiciously.

"Some editing? You're not going to go and change the whole thing, are you? I'm not letting you get out of things that easily."

"No, nothing like that. Minor changes. I give my word."

"Hmmm. I guess that's all right . . ."

He gazed at her sternly.

"You'll give it back, then?"

Little My hesitated, but eventually came around.

". . . fine. But I'm warnin' you, no funny business-- I've got my eye on you."

She pulled something crumpled from her pocket and waved it in front of Snufkin's face. He snatched it from her, saying incredulously,

"You had it with you this entire time?!"

Little My grinned,

"Of course, I'm no dummy!"

Snufkin turned to leave, apparently more then finished with the conversation.

"Hey! I'm looking forward to your performance!" she called after his retreating form.

----

"Mooooomin! HEY, MOOMIN!"

Little My heaved an enormous sigh.

"Oh, for Pete's sake! Where's he gone off to now?"

She sat down on the foot of Moomin's bed, bouncing up and down.

"Moomin! Moomin, hurry up! Hm?"

Little My's bouncing had disturbed Moomin's pillows, and she noticed something sticking out from underneath one of them. Crawling over, she grabbed at it. They were sheets of paper.

"What's this?"

The paper was scrawled with ink in very sloppy handwriting.

Spring

He's the springtime

I close my eyes and I wait through those long, cold nights,

Waiting,

Until that first day when I can hear his song again.

Floating to my ears,

That beautiful sound, better than a million birds

I jump up and run out then,

And I throw my arms around him, and it feels like hugging spring

Wrapped up tight in soft flowers and warm sun

Butterflies dancing in my tummy.

He laughs and I want to listen to it forever,

Snufkin, oh Snufkin,

please come back soon,

bring the spring with you,

and thaw my heart,

"Oh my GOSH it just goes on and ON," Little My complained, flipping through the sheets of ink-blotched paper.

"Bla bla bla . . . it's practically a novel here! Sheesh, Moomin's writing this junk too? These guys are ridiculous."

"H-hey! Little My, what are you doing?!"

"Hm?"

Moomin rushed from the doorway into his room and grabbed the sheets of paper from her, his face red.

"Give me those, that's, those are private! Don't you know not to go snooping through people's personal stuff like that?"

Little My rolled her eyes.

"Oh, please. What're you afraid I'll find out? Everyone already knows how crazy you are about Snufkin--"

"I'm not crazy!" Moomin huffed, opening a desk drawer and stowing the sheets away inside it.

"Uh-huh. Y'know it's kind of sad, really, you two writing about each other and you won't even talk about it."

Moomin made a disgruntled sound.

"Little My, I very much doubt Snufkin's poetry has anything to do with me at all. He probably writes about all the adventures he has when he's exploring south, he's seen an awful lot of stuff, after all."

Little My stared at him a moment.

". . . just wait, Moomin."

Moomin twitched an ear.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just that. Just wait. You'll see soon. Hey! I have an idea!"

She sprang up to her feet.

"Why doncha go read some of that stuff to Snufkin? Maybe it'll encourage him to share his own poetry!"

Moomin's eyes widened and he gasped.

"Oh, NO. No, no, no! Absolutely not!"

"Aw, why not?"

----

[gasttaton]

“Deeper than the Void”: Pt. 1/?

Well, it’s been several years since I’ve tried writing actual fanfics, but I figured I might as well give it another go! This is an Undertale shipfic for W.D. Gaster and Mettaton, somewhat based on an old RP I had with my best friend years ago. I might continue if enough people like it, so please enjoy!

Mettaton couldn't believe his rotten luck as of late. First his high heel broke, then he fell down a staircase, and then he cracked his NEO panel, right on the face. He managed to make it to Alphys' lab without too many others seeing him, only to be met with a note.

"Dear Mettaton, If you see this, I'm helping Undyne pack up and get ready to go to the surface, now that the barrier's opened. Just stay here if you need anything, I should be back soon! If you aren't reading this, then, um... -Milk -Eggs -Ramen -Dog food"

The android rolled his eye with a huff. "This isn't something that can wait," he groaned.

Mettaton looked around, and saw the elevator doors. He knew what was down there. Everyone did, since Alphys had allowed the amalgamates to go home and admitted her mistakes. Nobody else would be down there. Nothing but tools and parts. Such a realization gave him an idea.

"Well, if she isn't here to repair me... I'll just repair myself," he decided. After all, I need to look perfect for my grand debut above ground, Mettaton thought, as he stepped into the elevator.

As he descended, the elevator became dark, yet darker. He couldn't believe how impossibly deep this place was.

Eventually, the doors opened. Nothing greeted him but dead silence. A foreboding aura hung in the area. Without the amalgamates or Alphys there, the True Lab seemed even creepier. It still smelled of old chemicals and dust. A shiver went up Mettaton's spine. Despite the place being empty, he didn't feel alone.

Mettaton turned up the brightness of the heart on his belt, and used it as a flashlight. Slowly, he began making his way, looking for tools. Every step echoed down the empty halls.

As he walked in front of a corrupted monitor, he heard a crunch beneath his feet. When he looked down, he saw a white shard. He picked it up curiously. Turning it over in his hands, he whispered to himself. "Is this... a shard of bone? ...Must have fallen off of one of the amalgamates," he guessed.

Mettaton kept staring at it for a while, wondering what to do with it. Figuring it should definitely not be on the floor and stepped on, he decided to carry it with him for now. He could always figure out what to do with it later. With that, he kept going; ignoring the strange, hand-like symbols that began glitching onto the corrupted screen.

The True Lab was maze-like in the darkness; even with the light he had, Mettaton found it hard to navigate and find what he was looking for. Eventually, his streak of bad luck seemed to end as he happened upon a breaker box. After flipping a few switches, the lights overhead came on, and air began to flow through the vents.

But at that same time, deep within the lab, something rumbled so deeply that it made the whole place shake. Mettaton held himself steady until the quaking subsided.

"What was that??" he wondered aloud in shock. Curiosity getting the better of him, Mettaton put his search on hold and hurried towards the source of the noise.

What he found was nothing short of technologically engenius work. A device, massive in size, suspended by a countless number of cables. It almost looked like the skull of a cow, except deep maroon and metallic. Two red lights in the eyes of the skull were glowing red. They locked onto Mettaton as he stood before it, and scanned him. It picked up on the bone shard. And as soon as it did, heavy metal doors slammed shut, sealing Mettaton inside.

The robot gasped fearfully, and watched as bright red lasers shot from the eyes of the machine. Rather than damage anything, the lasers took hold of the bone shard and suspended it in midair. A voice programmed into the machine spoke:

"ORGANIC MATERIAL SECURED. DETERMINATION EXTRACTION BEGINNING IN SIXTY SECONDS."

Mettaton was confounded. That thing was alive? And it had Determination?? He quickly entered a state of panic; if this thing was really so important, he couldn't let it's Determination be extracted, or it surely wouldn't survive! But he had no idea how to work this machine.

"FIFTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

He decided it didn't matter if he knew how or not, he just had to try. Mettaton dashed to the control panel and began blindly pressing buttons and clicking icons on the screen. Surely something would come up that could stop this!

"FOURTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

"Shit, shit, shit, shit!" Mettaton swore to himself. His hands were shaking now, making his attempts harder. He opened a folder labeled "Settings", and found a subfolder inside: "Processes".

"THIRTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

Half the time was already gone. The android rapidly scrolled through all the processes available in the file--cripes, how were there so many?? He reached the process labeled "Determination", and clicked "Options".

"TWENTY SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

The Options page displayed everything related to the process: the amount of Determination it had stored in it's tank; virtual blueprints of the device with everything colored green and captioned with a status of "OK"; the countdown until the process began; and a set of three buttons that could change the command that the machine would follow.

"TEN SECONDS TO EXTRACTION."

Mettaton clicked the first button he saw in rapid succession.

The machine hummed and seemed to power down.

"EXTRACTION PROCESS CANCELLED."

He breathed a heavy sigh of relief and slid to sit on the floor. He couldn't believe how shaky his legs were.

"INSERTION PROCESS INITIATED."

"Oh fuck!!" Mettaton yelled, and got up to stop the machine again. But the process had already started, causing the page to become locked. He couldn't do a thing now.

A pulsing energy beam blasted from the mouth of the device, and made contact with the bone shard. Mettaton covered his mouth in fear. An overdose of Determination was what created the amalgamates; what was this tiny shard being saturated with the same thing going to become??

The bone shivered in the air and began to glow with energy. Then, close by, a tiny black circle appeared. Another bone shard came out, attached itself to the piece, and the circle vanished. As Mettaton watched, the same thing happened again. And again. The more it repeated, the bigger the mass of bones became. It almost felt like an eternity by the time the last shard had added itself to the new form; a large skeleton, curled up in a fetal position, still suspended in the air by the machine. The head of the skeleton had two cracks in it: one above the right eye, one below the left eye.

The strange skeleton's eyes opened. In an instant, he unfurled himself, and screamed as he sent a wave of black magic out from his Soul. The dark soundwave blew out the lights in the room, short-circuited the machine, and forced Mettaton to cover his ears. The idol backed up into a corner and sat down fearfully. Though the screaming stopped, his ears were still ringing.

This... THING just destroyed the machine with a scream! Mettaton thought to himself as he sat in the dark. How powerful is this thing?? Should I fight it?? Shit, my NEO panel is still broken, I won't stand a chance!

The ringing in his ears slowly faded away. Instead of the ringing, now Mettaton could hear footsteps. They were coming closer. Through the blackness, a pair of glowing, mismatched eyes gazed down at Mettaton. Blue and orange. Something seemed... familiar about those eyes.

"You are the one who saved me," said the skeletal figure, matter-of-factly.

"Y-Yes?" Mettaton responded. "Who... Who are you?"

The skeleton smiled calmly. He held out his Soul in his hand. Cracked as it was, it radiated with a green light, allowing Mettaton to see him more clearly. Somehow, the skeleton had gone from being completely naked to being dressed in a white turtleneck, a long black coat, pressed black trousers, and polished, fancy shoes. He had holes in the palms of his hands, and a name tag on his collar, written in strange symbols.

"I am Doctor Gaster," he responded warmly. "And you... are my savior."

[roggling]

The Grimm Legacy Kidge AU

Part 1

@justpidgance As promised! 

I did the thing and it’s gonna be a multiple part fanfic :))

Summary: Katie Holt just started working as a page at the Altea Circulating Material Repository - a library of historical objects. But what she didn’t know was that the Repository held a big secret. The Grimm Collection - a collection of magical items straight from the Grimm Brothers fairy tales. 

But shortly after she joined, the objects start disappearing. So it’s up to her and the other pages - handsome Lance, perfect Allura, caring Hunk, and brooding Keith - along with the librarians - Dr. Shirogane and Mr. Coran - to get them back.

The snow crunched under my feet and my honey brown hair bounced on my shoulders as I sprint towards my school. I’m late, again. Going to sleep at three to later wake up at six was indeed a bad idea, I didn’t hear my alarm and it was my brother who had to wake me up, ten minutes before school started.

At the front gate, a woman was pushing a cart down the sidewalk, unknowingly pushing it right into a crack in the cement. The cart overturned a, taking the woman with it. I ran straight to her and bent down to help her up. My cold hands grabbing onto her rags and I lifted her up gently. I still didn’t get a chance to look at the woman in the face, her long white hair covered her face.

But as I helped her pick up her belongings from the cart, I noticed the serious lack of winter clothes this woman had, but I almost gasped at what she was wearing on her feet: sandals!

I immediately opened my bag and dug into it, searching the seemingly bottomless bag for my sneakers. The stained white sneakers materialized behind my laptop and I pull them out. I hand them to the woman, “Here.” The woman scanned the sneakers and she cocked an eyebrow in confusion, so I continued, “They’re not winter-boots, but hopefully they’re better than those sandals.”

The woman beamed a bright smile of yellowed teeth and thanked me, “Thank you, child. You are far too kind.” I smiled at the woman and remembered my pair of socks in the pockets of the bag. I took it out and handed them to her, “I hope these will help.”

The woman thanked me again but as I turned around, she grabbed my hand and placed a pencil in my palm, “Keep it safe.” I looked back down on the pencil, reading the red ink spelling TICONDEROGA.

When I looked back up, the woman was gone and I was standing in front of the gate by myself.

“Come on, Katherine. You’re late.” My favorite teacher, Mr. Kolivan, stood at the door, his usual brooding stance intimidating the freshmen as they ran past him to their classes.

I forgot all about the pencil as I sprinted towards the school with my bookbag feeling lighter without the sneakers to drag me back. 

Mr. Kolivan stood at the front of the class, picking up the homework he assigned for the weekend. A research paper on a topic we had to choose from a list of topics Mr. Kolivan provided. And I, despite Matt’s teasing and warnings, wrote about the Grimm Brothers. If he didn’t want us writing about it why would it be on the list?

As Mr. Kolivan gave out the last research paper, I looked around and noticed that I was the only one without their research-paper back. Mr. Kolivan looked at me in the way and said, “Katherine I want to see you after class,” before continuing with the class, going off about the Ottomans in World War II.

But my mind wandered off, making up hundreds of scenarios over what he’s gonna say. Probably something about my essay being horrible and that I failed a test that he wanted to see whether we would be dumb enough to actually write about such a childish topic. Or maybe he’ll-

The bell rung, dismissing the class. The class simultaneously got up and left the classroom empty in a matter of seconds, leaving me dazed in my seat like an idiot. I lowered my head in shame asMr. Kolivan approached with my paper folded vertically. He had a stern look on his face and I waited for the lecture to come.

But instead of a lecture, he said something I didn’t expect, “Congratulations.” When I looked up, my paper was on my desk displaying a purple A with a perfect circle drawn around it.

My mouth hung open agape for a second before I managed to stutter, “Oh, th-thank you, Mr. Kolivan.” 

Mr. Kolivan nodded but I could tell that he wasn’t finished and he continued, “Why the Grimm brothers?” 

“I don’t know ... I guess I was just always infatuated with fairy tales. I mean, they tell their stories so detailed that they feel real.”

“Real?”

WRONG WORD. “I mean, it seems genuine. The bad guys win and good people die. Just like life. People say that fairy tales are black and white, that they’re simple. But underneath all the good endings, there is an unearthed symbolism that they don’t pick up on. To me they’re complicated. They’re complex.” Nice save.

Mr. Kolivan seemed to let my answer marinade as he stood in front of me with his nose scrunched, meaning he’s thinking. 

“Would you like a job?” 

I furrow my eyebrows at the random question, “What?”

Mr. Kolivan dug his hands into front pant pockets, “A friend of mine at the Altea Circulating Material Repository told me they have an opening for a new page. It’s a great place, I worked there myself when I was your age.” 

Geez, how old is this place?

I forced my mind away from that thought as I asked, “Is that like a library?”

“‘Like a library.’ Exactly. Well-put.”

“Yeah - yes. I’d like that,” I said. A job equals money. Plus, it wasn’t as if I have a social life so I won’t be missing anything. 

“Great, let me give you his number.”

Mr. Kolivan hands me a small crumpled piece of paper with small numbers scribbled in purple ink at the front, the name DR. SHIROGANE written right under it. I thanked him and left the classroom with a scrap of paper in my pocket.

I walked in my apartment and, as usual, there was no one home. The advantages of having your whole entire family work at the Garrison. I threw my bookbag on my bed and laid down on my stomach and cuddled with my pillow as Green, my Bombay cat, cuddled against my arm as I scrolled down.

After a few minutes of doing nothing, I remembered the paper Mr. Kolivan gave me and I took it out, reading the numbers over and over again. I looked back to green who was just napping and asked, “Time to make a phone call, Green?” 

Green just sat there and I shrugged, “I guess that’s a yes.”

I sat crisscrossed and dialed the phone number, a kind masculine voice responding after three beeps.

“Takashi Shirogane.”

“Dr. Shirogane? I - this is Katherine Holt. My social studies teacher, Mr. Kolivan told me you had an opening for a job?”

“Oh, right. Katherine. Yes, Kolivan said you’d call. I’m glad to hear from you.”

Kolivan. His own friends don’t call him by his first name?

“Can you come in for an interview next Thursday after school?”

“Alright, where do I go?” Dr. Shirogane gave me an address that is literally across the street from the school. 

“Ask for me at the front desk, they’ll send you up.”

Soon enough, it was Thursday and I found myself reading the painted gold plaque reading The Altea Circulating Material Repository. The building seemed very old school, a small narrow building patterned with brick walls and little windows. It had a homey view from the outside and it seemed to have a welcoming aura. 

I opened the entrance door and, somehow, it opened into a huge lobby. The floors made of faux marble and it reflected the light of the small chandeliers. At the very end stood a huge, dark oak desk with elaborate carvings. But it wasn’t the desk that astounded me, but it was the fact that Lance McClain stood behind it. 

Lance McClain, the tallest, cutest, the best shortstop and batter in the school. I once saw the guy smack a paper ball aimed at his face away and land it in the garbage can on the other side of Mr. Antok’s Calculus class.

But when I say he’s cute... he’s cute. I’m talking about model cute... okay I think a more accurate word would be hot but that’s not a word I’d like to think about as this dude is looking at me.

HE’S LOOKING AT ME.

“Um, I’m here to see Dr. Shirogane?” I said.

Lance offered me a blinding smile and picked up the receiver of an old-fashioned telephone, “All right. Who should I say is here?” 

“Katherine Holt.”

Lance dialed up a number and spoke into it, “Katherine Holt is here to see you, Shiro... Sure ... not until five today... Okay.” He hung up and pointed towards an odd looking elevator and gave me directions, “Fifth floor, first door to the right. You’ll see it.”

I thanked him, hoping he didn’t see the blush on my cheeks and made my way out to Dr. Shirogane’s door. 

I found myself face-to-face with Dr. Shirogane’s black door soon enough and I knocked lightly. 

“The door’s open.”

I turned the knob and sure enough, it was open. I swung the heavy door open and I saw a tall, bulky, young man sitting behind a dark oak desk similar to the one downstairs. He had an undercut and bleach white bangs, but somehow although he had an absurd hairdo, he was still intimidating.

He looked away from the pile of papers he was dealing with and smiled once he his gray eyes met mine and I could have sworn I’ve seen him before. “Katherine. Nice to meet you. Have a seat.” I did as told and sat at the lone seat in front of his desk and intertwined my fingers, playing with them as Dr. Shirogane read from the computer before he asked, “You’re in Kolivan’s European history class, right?”

I nodded, “That’s right.”

Shiro nodded, “That’s good. Kolivan has never sent us a bad page. He says you’re hardworking and witty. Independent and a genius - which is a high praise from Kolivan, believe me. This is gonna sound weird but, do you do the dishes at home?”

Uh??? “Yeah, most of the time.”

“How often?”

“Most days, maybe five or six times a week.” Because lord knows Matt can’t clean a dish to save his life.

Dr. Shirogane nodded and continued with his weird questions, “And how many have you broken this year?”

“Dishes?”

“Yes, dishes, glasses, that sort of thing.”

“None. Why?”

“Oh, we can never be too careful. When was the last time you lost your keys?”

“I never lose my keys?”

“Perfect. All right,” Dr. Shirogane turned around a grabbed a box on the shelf behind him, “Would you sort these please?”

“How?”

“Now that’s up to you.”

I look down to the box and open it to find a huge collection of buttons. I spilled the contents of the box onto the desk and began sorting them by materials: wood and other plant materials; metal; stone; bone, shell, and other animal parts; glass and other man-made materials, including plastic. Then I made a subgroup where I organized them by size. 

Once I finished, Dr. Shirogane bent down to my eye-level and studied my sorting, giving me a good look at his face. He had a pink scar across the bridge of his nose and freckle-speckled cheeks, but for some reason, I could have sworn I can see them move.

“Which do you think is the most valuable?”

I pointed to the button that seemed to contain a mix of rubies and diamonds. 

“Which is the oldest?”

I pointed to a stone button that seemed to be missing chunks and had a few cracks.

“The most powerful?” 

I rose an eyebrow at that, “Powerful? How can a button be powerful?”

Dr. Shirogane smiled and responded, “I think you’ll find that every object here has its own unique qualities.” 

Before I could register what he just said, he stood up and had a large smile painting his face and offered a hand, “This has been illuminating, Katherine. Do you think you can start tomorrow?” I stand up and take his right hand, finding that his arm isn’t actually an arm, more like a metal appendage.

I shake his hand and nod, “I can start tomorrow.”

Dr. Shirogane smiles again, “Great. I’ll get Keith to show you around tomorrow. Lance, could you take her to Stack 9 and show her the ropes?”

I turn around behind me and find Lance McClain leaning on the doorway, “But the ropes are on Stack 2-”

“I mean metaphorically Lance.”

“Oh, sure Shiro. Come on...”

I had to bring myself back to reality once I realized that Lance didn’t know my name, despite the fact that we’re in Calculus together. “Katherine. But you can call me Katie.”

Lance nodded and waved me to follow him, “Come on, Katie.”

I began following him and I turned around to thank Dr. Shirogane, “Thank you, Dr. Shirogane.”

He smiled back at me and urged, “Call me Shiro. And no problem, Katie.”

[likealightsw1tch]

Thanks for the tag! I’ve been putting this off for days but I’m sitting down and doing it on my lunch lol. This tiny lil fandom needs more things like this. 

Favourite production?

Current (pre-shutdown) Broadway cast, for SURE. I love so many of the productions I’ve seen boots of, too, but that was my first & only time seeing it live. As you probably know if you follow me, Dave Thomas Brown is THE Kevin Price for me, but the rest of the cast & ensemble is just so amazing as well. Kim Exum as Naba?? Cody Strand as Arnold? Stephen Ashfield just... existing?? COME ON. 

However, special shoutout goes to Joel Granger & Pierce Cassedy for their portrayals of McKinley in the Australian & America tours because they are AMAZING and I wish so much I could see them in person. 

Favourite character?

Kevin Price is my simple answer. My complicated answer is that I love both Kevin and Connor with all of my heart, but that’s primarily focusing on the “fandom version” of Connor rather than the show’s version, which makes him a sweet, sympathetic human being instead of a gay cartoon character. 

Favourite song?

“You & Me (But Mostly Me),” but honorable mention goes to “I Believe” and “Turn It Off”

Have you seen it live? How many times? With which actors?

Refer to my first answer. Due to personal reasons we will not be discussing how many times I’ve seen it. 

What year did you enter the fandom?

About a year ago, almost exactly!

Where are you from? (Credit card number?)

Grew up in Ohio, live in NYC now. My credit card number is 7. 

Star Wars of Star Trek?

No<3

Fanfic that deserve more recognition?

I really hate to name names because I’ll undoubtedly leave someone out, but I will read just about ANYTHING posted by the amazing: @warrengabrielzuko​ @elderkevinmckinley​ @e-sawyer​ @sprinkleofharries​ @afterafternoons​

ALSO, I will scream about the ancient fanfic “Bricks” by Mirimea to anyone who will listen. If you like angst and haven’t read it yet, what are you DOING it’s life changing and has haunted me for a year straight. They are a great writer in general and I’m still holding out hope they will make a grand sweeping return to the fandom one day so I can shower them in love. 

Uhhh I’m sure there’s more but I’m on a TIME CRUNCH, PEOPLE, PLEASE EVERYONE KEEP WRITING FANFIC

How many times are you going to go see the show once it reopens?

Don’t talk to me.

Relative to Elder Price's obsession with Orlando, how obsessed are you with Book of Mormon (the musical)?

This past year since seeing it, I’ve spiraled from “This show is A Lot” to “Ok this show has some good parts” to “I will NOT be spiraling over this” to “Oh god I’m kinda spiraling over this” to “Kevin Price is my son and I would, will, and must die for him.” So... idk, pretty chill, I guess. 

What's the weirdest mormon fact you learned while obsessing over Book of Mormon (the musical)?

I honestly knew nothing about Mormonism going in. The coffee stuff went over my head the first time I saw it and now, still, I think that’s the wildest shit ever and kind of hilarious. 

Decaying donkey or dead water buffalo?

STOP I hate that whole part of the show it makes my physically nauseous I can’t even explain why. I don’t even have a weak stomach, idk what it is about it

What's your favourite background action during the Spooky Hell Dream?

Literally everything that Elder McKinley does, especially when the actor playing him feels like being Extra Spicy with Kevin. 

Thoughts on the General's boots?

They’re yellow and the only good thing about his character. 

What's your favourite bad fanart and why haven't you sent in a submission yet?

I’M SORRY I’LL SEND ONE IN I LOVE ALL FAN ART

What slime tutorial would you like me to gift to you? hmu <3

If you can find me a boot of Dave Thomas Brown I will literally sell you my firstborn child.

Where would you like to go on your mission? What's your paradise planet? :)

Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest, like Seattle or Vancouver or a nearby forested area where it rains a lot and has chilly weather and pretty trees. No murder hornets tho pls. 

Book of Mormon Ask Game

Favourite production?

Favourite character?

Favourite song?

Have you seen it live? How many times? With which actors?

What year did you enter the fandom?

Where are you from? (Credit card number?)

Star Wars of Star Trek?

Fanfic that deserve more recognition?

How many times are you going to go see the show once it reopens?

Relative to Elder Price's obsession with Orlando, how obsessed are you with Book of Mormon (the musical)?

What's the weirdest mormon fact you learned while obsessing over Book of Mormon (the musical)?

Decaying donkey or dead water buffalo?

What's your favourite background action during the Spooky Hell Dream?

Thoughts on the General's boots?

What's your favourite bad fanart and why haven't you sent in a submission yet?

What slime tutorial would you like me to gift to you? hmu <3

Where would you like to go on your mission? What's your paradise planet? :)

@quoththeraven-fuck @rrratchie @x-broadway-x-trash-x @shiroisourking @cassiemess17 @hasteasnail @wheezeebrown @e-sawyer @afterafternoons @gemma-nye @likealightsw1tch @elderkevinmckinley

Tag 5 bom fans uwu

[seenashwrite]

“Sweetheart,” Dean said, looking right into her eyes, “I think you should...”

Careful! How you finish that line is gonna make-or-break how well you’ve captured Dean Winchester in that fic you’re working on. Why, you may ask? Keep reading. And to you who are familiar with this topic... 

NOTE: Any subsequent “add-ons” via others sharing their thoughts on the topic which resulted in other posts will be linked at the bottom!

Abstract

Persistent usage in fandom writings ascribing one Dean Winchester a mannerism that relates to interactions with those he is romantically involved - specifically, the substitution of their name with “sweetheart” - is shown via evidence-based research to be in conflict with this fictional character’s established persona and speech patterns thus far.

Data

For your quick ref convenience, “sweethearts” meant in the traditional sense of the word have a ❤️ by the episode title. Let us begin. The facts are these:

SEASON ONE

1.02 Wendigo

[TO FEMALE CHARACTER] Well, sweetheart, I don’t do shorts.

1.16 Shadow

[DEAN looks at MEG, who smiles at him] Oh, sweetheart—you’re dumber than you look…

Later–>

MEG: You know, that shotgun’s not gonna do much good. DEAN: Oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. The shotgun’s not for the demon.

SEASON TWO

2.06 No Exit

[TO JO] Sweetheart, this ain’t gender studies. Women can do the job fine. Amateurs can’t.

SEASON THREE

(The writers’ room got a real hard-on for it this season)

3.04 Sin City

[TO FEMALE CHARACTER] You know, you’re piling it pretty high there, sweetheart. I’m not sure I’m buying.

3.06 Red Sky at Morning

[TO BELA] Well, sweetheart, I don’t need your kind of help.

3.07 Fresh Blood

[TO FEMALE CHARACTER] Well, I hate to tell you this, sweetheart, but your blood’s never pumping again.

3.11 Mystery Spot

[TO FEMALE SERVER] ‘Scuse me, sweetheart? Can I get sausage instead of bacon?

3.12 Jus in Bello

[TO BELA] Oh, I’ll find you, sweetheart. You know why? Because I have absolutely nothing better to do than to track…

3.15 Time Is on My Side

[TO BELA] Sweetheart, we are weeks past help.

SEASON FOUR

4.01 Lazarus Rising ❤️

[DEAN approaches the IMPALA, runs a hand along it] Hey, sweetheart, did you miss me?

SEASON FIVE

5.09 The Real Ghostbusters

[FEMALE CHARACTER walks into the room nervously] I don’t wanna do this.

[DEAN leans around the corner] I’m right here sweetheart, I’ve got your back. Trust me, this is going to work. [he then pulls back so he can’t be seen grimacing]

5.11 Sam, Interrupted

[FEMALE CHARACTER walks in their direction]

[DEAN spots her] Oh, no, no, no. Not today, sweetheart. Come on, keep walking…

5.12 Swap Meat

FEMALE SERVER: Here you go, guys.

DEAN: You know, do me a favor, sweetheart. Would you bring me a cheeseburger with extra bacon? And fry an egg on top of it, would you?

SEASON SEVEN  

7.17 The Born-Again Identity

MEG: That hurts my feelings. I’ve been good to you, Dean.

DEAN: No, you’ve been good to you, sweetheart.

SEASON EIGHT

8.08 Hunteri Heroici

FEMALE CAREGIVER: You’re not supposed to be here.

DEAN: Well, trust me, sweetheart, you got bigger fish.

SEASON TEN

10.02 Reichenbach

[FEMALE DANCER is disgusted; she moves to leave]  And we’re done.

[DEAN grabs at her] Hey, hey, hey. Song’s not over, sweetheart.

SEASON TWELVE

12.17 The British Invasion ❤️

[DEAN looks down sight of newly-returned Colt] Welcome back, sweetheart.

SEASON THIRTEEN

13.16 - Scoobynatural ❤️

[DEAN prepares to swing sledgehammer at enchanted TV] Sorry, sweetheart.

.

SEASON FIFTEEN

15.10 - The Heroes' Journey ❤️

[DEAN grabs the grenade launcher] Hey, sweetheart.

Analysis

Of 15 seasons and 320 total episodes aired as of this writing, "sweetheart" appears in [*adult] Dean's dialogue 20 times in 19 episodes. So, 19 is 5.9375% of 320. That's not even one quarter.

He just doesn’t use the word often, folks.

[Note: to get a precise percentage of its appearance in his actual dialogue, you’d need to count every single word the man has spoken - I’d think taking out “a”, “and”, “the”, and “I” would be acceptable - and good luck, there. I ain’t your girl. Another possibility would be to compare “sweetheart” to other nicknames he’s given people - again, knock yourself out. This is just to illustrate its appearances across seasons. A tangential comparison? Take your number of fics involving Dean - i.e., your # of episodes - count the “sweethearts”, and do your percentage.]

Of the 20 usages, 4 are of a clearly affectionate nature: once to Baby the Impala, once to the Colt, once to the enchanted television, once to the grenade launcher.

The remaining uses - all directed at female characters - are of a false comfort, patronizing, and/or manipulative nature, because a portion of Dean’s persona is that of an irredeemable asshole. The character is greater than the sum of his parts, true - but that is an undeniable part.

Thus, this does not seem to be a substitute name Dean Winchester bestows upon persons of a beloved nature. It is scantly, possibly endearing - albeit patronizing - when he’s used it as a substitute name for waitresses.

Visual Aids

[Note: Someone jokingly asked for a pie chart last time - ‘cause hello, what’s a Dean topic without PIE! - and I did them and they were silly. Here’s the replacement, which IMO is an improvement and completely scientifically accurate, I’m sure you’ll agree]

Wrap Up

Could there be any exceptions?

Sure. If he's Demon!Dean and it's not romantic and is a pure smutty hate f*ck - in that instance, the data would most assuredly support the author’s choice.

Also supportable would be complete off-the-rails AU fics [as in: Dean's not a hunter, he's a mechanic from Regular Town, USA] because in those cases, no one expects him to be canon-friendly.

Here, have a cheat sheet:

.

And what’s my personal opinion?

Dean doesn’t call people of significance by that endearment in a heartfelt manner, reserving it solely for inanimate objects (Baby, the Colt, the TV, and the grenade launcher), because they pose no threat of rejecting him. So... maybe it actually does mean something loving and sentimental to him. Maybe that’s why he hasn’t used it on someone he’s crazy about.... has he met that person yet? Again, maybe. Are the writers doing this purposefully? Is Jensen maybe slipping a handful of ‘em in, as well? Ya got me.

In any event, there’s the obvious: They’re all objects to him, useful for specific tasks regarding things he needs/wants - food, beer, sex, baiting a ghost, mindless entertainment - or they’re an adversary who is standing between him and something he needs/wants. Either way, all ultimately disposable. That ain’t sweet, nor does it have heart.

Bottom line

If you are professing that your story is canon?

Stop. Having. Dean. Call. You. Sweetheart.

You, your O.C., the friend you're writing into a fic so they can get boned by Dean, any other character you're having Dean bang-a-rang... if they don't go VROOOOM or go BOOM or go ZOOM, it's an inappropriate nickname.

Hypothesis on overall reception by SPN fanfiction authors, specifically those writing Dean in sexual/romantic encounters?

Utter rejection.

* Final Note: there is Teenage Dean usage of a snot-faced “sweetheart” that further supports the hypothesis, however it has been excluded due to age - as the topic is Dean in romantic/sexual fanfics - and due to the fact this was already a slam-dunk case. 

Astute data-crunching followers have also pointed out the use of “sweetheart” by one John Winchester in a patronizing manner towards a female vampire. 

The original data crunch - linked at top - also noted the use of an affectionate “sweetheart” by one Mary Winchester, which was directed towards Baby. 

Sam is not covered here because I don’t care about him.

I’m kidding. To not care would be something, and I nothing Sam.

I’m kidding. 

See? He gets me. 

(Sources: Available SPN Wiki transcripts)

ETA: More sweetheart talk via “Dear Nash” HERE and HERE

ETA #2 [Feb. 2018]: Nash’s breakdown of how to assess & choose a NON-sweetheart endearment specifically for “Dean In Love” situations is HERE  

.

* Up to date as of July 2020 *

[nastytrashblog]

Awake (Wings Fanfic)

A/N: Woaaaaaah it’s been a while. I’ve been busy with school and haven’t found time. I was sleeping all break and was doing work. Jk no I wasn’t. I procrastinated and did this instead. I hope all of you like it! I’m planning to finish all my fanfics before summer ends because that is when I have the most time. I’m actually planning to start a series so stay tuned for that for those who actually read my fanfictions. I digress, enjoy!

4.4 k words, Fluff, Jin x reader

You knew Jin ever since you were 2 years old. Through thick and thin, he was there for you, and you were there for him. Although it was a pain when your mom and his mom made you take baths together at a young age and showed the photos to everyone they knew. You really had no say whether or not you want to be in this friendship. You can say that you were born into it. When preteen and teen years came, you were a rollercoaster of emotions. You had to admit, you were pretty hot when puberty hit you. You had many boy problems, drama with other girls, but Jin, he was always there for you. However, once high school began, he started to get busy. His mom wanted him to focus on his studies so he could get a good, stable job in the future. You didn’t see him as often, but you made other friends. None that were as close as he was to you, but you managed. They were an okay group but the one thing you hated was that they bullied him a lot because of how he looked. He hung out with the nerdy group and you hung out with the cool kids, but that didn’t stop you from hitting that boy in your group in the nose when he called Jin ugly. You didn’t feel like you belonged anywhere. You felt lonely at times, except for when he wasn’t there. He was your home, he was the only one you needed.

“I knew you would be here (y/n)” you hear the crunching of the leaves from Jin walking up the hill. You sat up to see him holding a sweater and a scarf, while he was wrapped up in his.

“Don’t you have to be studying or something? Your mom’s going to get mad.” You look up at him as he handed you the sweater and put it on.

“Yeah, she will, but you’re more important.” He smiled. You reached out for the scarf and wrapped yourself in it. You saw the moon’s reflection in his glasses.

“You didn’t have to give that boy a bloody nose for calling me ugly you know. It’s true.” He said twiddling his thumbs. You pat on the spot beside you telling him to sit. He did as you asked and you started to attack him with your arm around his neck.

“Are you dumb? Of course I had to!” You heard him coughing and let go. “Besides, I can tell you’re going to glow up.” You lay down and looked at the stars.

“I hope so. Maybe I can be a model or something.” He laughs as he lays down beside you.

“Don’t get your hopes too high now. Besides, you can become a famous doctor or something. You have the brains.” Jin let out a loud sigh and started to get agitated.

“That’s the thing, I don’t know what I want to be. I don’t have any dreams. I’ve been studying my ass off, but do I really want to be like this. Do I really want to be a doctor? I probably won’t be successful. I have no drive to pursue it.” You turn your head to him and see his red cheeks.

“Well, that makes two of us. I have no clue.” You pause and he looks at you. You immediately turn your head to the the sky. “Well, I have some clue, but I doubt it’s even possible.” Jin props himself up and rests his chin in the palm of his hand.

“Really? Tell me.” You look at the curious boy and give him a smile.

“I really want to work in the entertainment industry. Directing, writing, maybe even acting. Managing kpop groups-” he interrupts you with a laugh.

“And there she is. Of course you want to manage kpop groups. You think they’re so dreamy and hot!” He said in a mocking tone. You push him and he fell on his back. You lay on his chest and look at the moon.

“Don’t you ever wish you can just fly out of this world and be in a place with no stress, no expectations, no pressure.” He looked down at you and gave out a faint smile.

“What kind of a question is that? Anyone in the right mind would take that offer.” He lightly smacks your forehead and you let out a giggle.

“I just want to fly away and live in paradise with you.” You felt his heart beat faster. Jin suddenly sat up and you were still laying down, but your head moved to his thigh.

“Why me?” You look at him in confusion and sit up as well. “You’re my best friend, you know me better than anyone else. I want to live the rest of my life with you.”

“You sound like you’re proposing.” Jin raises up an eyebrow. “Maybe I am.” You tease, moving closer to him. He suddenly felt uneasy, and you stopped. “I’m kidding.” You moved your head away and fell down in laughter beside him.

“What are you laughing about?” He growled. “Nothing!” You say in a teasing voice.

“Ya! Tell me!” You shook your head like a little child and crossed your arms. He then started to tickle you to get the answer and you two eventually roll down the hill. You land on top of him and both of you start laughing. A yell from Jin’s house echoed through the neighbourhood. “You should go, I don’t want you to get in trouble because of me.”

“Maybe you should get off of me first fatty!” He exclaimed. You pinned him down and looked him in the eyes.

“Wha-what are you doing?” He stuttered. You loved teasing him, seeing him struggle made you laugh. “You’re pretty weak Jin.” You giggle. A clearing of someone’s throat caught both of your attention, it was his mom. Both of you immediately got up in laughter.

“Hi Ms. Kim!” You say with a smile. “Hi (y/n). I cannot believe after all these years, you’re still good friends.” She was pleased at the sight, and didn’t really mind the situation you were in. Considering you were on top of him, just inches away from his face, his mother didn’t seem to care. “You two had your fun, come on Jin, you have to keep working.” You two did your old handshake and waved each other goodbye. You started to walk away, then heard him call your name.

“(Y/n), it won’t be like that next time!” He said with confidence. “You wish weakling!” You yell back, and both of you parted ways.

A few years later

“Do you have to go?” Jin asked with his puppy eyes. Your dad had been working his butt off for the past few years and got a promotion. You felt so happy for him, but the sad thing was that you had to move to Seoul. Although it was a 16 minute train ride and a 21 minute drive going back to Gyeonggi-do Gwacheon, it was still a hassle.

“Yeah, but don’t worry, I’ll try my best to visit. You have my number too so we can text!” Both of you give each other your final hug. You couldn’t help but tear up. You’re going to be miles away from your only true friend. You snuggled your head in his chest while he patted your head.

“Shh, don’t cry. You’ll see me again okay?” You looked up at him and he wiped your tear. “You’re ugly when you cry, stop it!” He jokes. You move away and hit him on the shoulder lightly.

“I’ll see you soon.” He smiles and waves. You move back into his embrace. You wanted to stay in his scrawny arms forever. You felt like you were losing a part of you, but you know that you had to leave. You let go and looked at him in the eyes. “I’m going to miss you, see you soon.” You sniffle and enter your car. You wave goodbye until he was no longer in your sight.

The next years were not as bad as you thought. You did make a few friends, none that were as close as Jin of course, and had a few relationships here and there. You felt that something was missing in all of them, but you didn’t know what. You mainly focused on work and tried to achieve your dream of working in the entertainment industry. Your parents were surprisingly supportive. You helped your dad in his office, however you did work at the hospital with your mom just in case this whole thing didn’t work out. Balancing school and trying to get your work skills so it would look good in your resume was stressful, but there was a rush to it. You used to think that working was boring, but the more you did, it was kind of addicting.

It’s been about 5 years since you moved, you graduated university early and moved out of your parent’s house. Today was a big day for you. You were finally hired to work at a company. It didn’t seem that big, but they did train some good artists. You started at the bottom, but with your work habits, you were eventually got to the top. You became one of the managers and a makeup artist for the new group that they were debuting. It was called BTS. You never meet them before during their trainee years. You couldn’t go near any of the trainees at that time because it wasn’t your job to interact with them. You just needed to plan, get coffee and follow around your boss. Now, you were someone else’s boss and managed the new group. You wondered how they looked like. You did some research on them and how they were trained in the company. You scrolled through their profiles. “Kim Namjoon aka Rapmonster. He was an underground rapper, the leader of the group, placed at the top 1% of the whole nation.” You went through all of them and reached the last one. You saw the name Jin and remembered your old friend. You said you were going to contact each other, but both of you were busy. You figured his mom made him work harder, and you worked your butt off to get to the position you were in now. You scrolled down to read his description, but then heard a knock on the door.

“Ms. (Y/L/N), it’s time for you to meet the boys.” You got up and walked out the door. You weren’t dressed fancily since you were just meeting them. You wore a light blue sweater, a pair of jeans and your white converse. Before you walked in, you took a deep breath and entered the room.

“Everyone listen up. Where’s Jin?” Bang PD got everyone’s attention. Coincidentally, the one person that you didn’t read about wasn’t here yet.

“He’s in the washroom.” One said. You figured he was Rapmonster due to his hair, and the pictures.

“This boy! Anyways, someone’s here to introduce herself. I need to do something at the office so be nice to her.” He exited and left you with a bunch of curious boys. All their eyes turned to you and you suddenly felt nervous. You swallowed the lump in your throat and started talking.

“Hi, I’m (Y/N), I’ll be your manager and one of your makeup artists due to the shortage right now. Nice to meet you all, let’s have fun!” They all started to clap and they introduced themselves one by one. Then door opened behind you.

“Oh, Jin hyung. You’re late. Our manager just introduced herself.” Jimin said. You turned around and looked at him. Your heart dropped to your stomach, you were frozen in place. Your eyes widened at the sight of Jin, your best friend.

“Jin?” You were speechless. You cannot believe he was right in front of you. All you wanted to do was hug him, but he beat you to it. His arms flung around you and you buried your face in his chest.

“Oh hyung, getting friendly with the manager already.” someone teased. You didn’t really know who that was, but you were too distracted hugging your old friend. You felt the tears welling up in your eyes. He let go and looked at your face. He took his thumbs and wiped your tear away.

“You’re still so ugly when you cry.” He laughs. “And no, I’m not getting “friendly” with her, she’s my old friend. I haven’t seen her in years.” They all said “oh” in unicense. “Go clean yourself in the bathroom, your mascara is running.” You wipe your cheek and see a black mark on you finger. You run to the washroom and clean yourself up. Is this even real? Your best friend is one of the members of the group that you’re going to manage. However, you knew you had to keep it professional. Your best friend will be in front of you, but you can’t even have drinks with him, or even talk to him besides the manner of work. You wash your face and head back to the boys.

“The first day and our manager slash makeup artist already cried in front of us.” Yoongi said.

“Sorry about that. I just can’t believe I met you again.” he smiles at you and you smile back at him.

“It’s understandable, don’t worry.” Namjoon said.

“I guess I lost my chance to get at our manager. She’s all yours hyung.” Taehyung teased. Jin then hit his arm and Taehyung started to laugh. The one boy that wasn’t talking and was inching away from you was Jungkook.

“Umm, Jungkook, are you okay?” You asked. You didn’t want it to be awkward, but he was just looking at the floor.

“It’s his first time talking to a girl. Or even looking at one.” Hoseok said.

“Hyung! No it’s not!” Jungkook said angrily.

“You don’t have to worry. Girls don’t bite. Plus, I’m your manager and makeup artist. I’ll be around you guys a lot, so you can be comfortable around me. Talk to me if you need any advice or anything.” You wanted them to be normal around you, and they did. They warmed up to you, and you warmed up to them. They were childish, but worked hard. When they won the rookie award, you felt like a proud mom. All they do is work and barely go out. They practically live in the practice room. Things between you and Jin were normal. You finally got time to talk to him when they were on a hiatus.

“So what happened when you moved? You should still be in school” You two decided to eat some pizza in your office instead of going out. It was like when you were younger. He would go to your room and both of you would talk as you share two boxes of pizza. He ate a lot, but it seemed like nothing changed.

“I graduated early. I didn’t really have a social life when I graduated from high school. Had some boyfriends here and there, some friends, but I lost contact. What about you? You’re in a kpop group, and won the rookie award. What happened to all the studying you were doing?” He didn’t really seem like the person to be in a kpop group. He was such a nerd when he was younger. Always played games and fanboyed over Mario.

“I don’t know.” there was a pause. “Remember that time on the hill when we were talking about our future?” You remembered it clearly.

“Of course, how could I not? I punched a boy for you that day as well.” both of you laughed. “What about that day?”

“Well, you gave me a dream. You wanted to be in the entertainment industry, and I guess I wanted to do the same. The way you had ambition in your eyes, it made it more interesting.” Your cheeks started to feel hot.

“Are you okay? You’re red as a tomato.” He started to lean in closer. You choked on your pizza and started to cough. What was going on? Why am I like this? He grabbed a can of nestea gave it to you. You chugged it down and relaxed.

“Thanks for that.” You needed to bring something up before he started to ask about what just happened. “I bet you’re still a weakling. Look at those scrawny arms, go to the gym.” You laugh. Was that really the first thing you could think of?

“Really? I bet I can bring you down in a second. Let’s wrestle right now, like old times.” You didn’t know what came over you, but you agreed. For old times sake right? Nothing else. He started on all fours while you had your arms around his waist. You started the countdown and then started to push him. You were still pretty strong. You pushed him down without a struggle, but then he immediately turned you over and pinned you down.

“I told you, it was going to be different the next time. But I got to admit, you are still pretty strong.” he looked in your eyes and just stared at you. You felt your cheeks burning again. You tried to get up, but his grip was too strong.

“Are you going to let me get up or just stare at me?” you felt lightheaded. He started to lean in closer to you. He was inches away from your face. You close your eyes and then heard him chuckle. He then flicked your forehead and you opened your eyes.

“What are you thinking about?” he laughs. You feel you cheeks getting hotter “You’re so red.” You start to squirm in your place.

“Of course I am! I’m embarrassed.” You moved your face to the side to avoid eye contact with him.

“Of what? Because I’m stronger than you? Or maybe it’s because you like me.” he teased. You look at him with disgust. Could that really be it? No, it can’t be. Not possible. He’s like a brother.

“You crazy?” You yelled a bit too loud. You heard a knock on the door.  

“(Y/N), are you okay? I need to talk to you.” It was Taehyung. He opened the door without you answering and saw Jin on top of you. His face was blank and he slowly closed the door.

“Tae! Wait! Jin get off.” He did as you said and both of you started running after Tae. He started to run as well yelling “Hyung” down the hall trying to call the other members. You eventually tackle him and Jin covers his mouth and bring him back to your office. Jin pushed him down onto the couch and Tae stayed put.

“Ouuwahhh. Hyung, I didn’t know you rolled like that.” the boy teased. Jin put his hand up to slap him but then stopped himself.

“Tae, it isn’t what it looked like. We’re just really close friends.” you tried to explain.

“Yep, friends with benefits.” he laughs.

“No! Nothing like that!” you exclaimed.

“Jin, did you not tell her?” Tae said. Jin started to attack him. Tae screamed in pain while Jin hit him.

“Tell me what?” You didn’t know what they were talking about. Tae looked at Jin and Jin looked at him with fire in his eyes,

“He likes-ouf” then Jin jabbed him in the stomach and grabbed him by his t-shirt. He likes? Likes who? Me? Does he really? You replayed all the times you had with him. It was so obvious, why didn’t you realize.

“Tae, can you step out for a moment?” Tae looked at you, then at him. Jin let go of him and Tae walked out closing the door behind him.

“So wha-” You cut Jin off by placing your finger on his lips. You waited for a few seconds and opened the door. Tae fell and looked up at you.

“I didn’t mean to listen to us. Go back to the dorms.” He gave you a sad look and you sighed.

“I’ll buy you lunch.” He got up with a big smile and gave thumbs up.

“Okay!” and tae ran off. You closed your door and turned to Jin. You couldn’t look at him and you didn’t know why. You didn’t know what to say, you just needed to talk to him about what just happened.

“So, with what Tae just said. I just wanted to talk-” you were interrupted by Jin lifting your chin up and smashing his lips onto yours. It was so soft, so plump. You didn’t know what got over you, but you swung your arms around his neck and kissed him back. He moved his hands to your waist and pulled you in closer. You didn’t know what you were doing, but it felt right. All the other boys you kissed, it was not like this. You knew what was wrong, you knew why it didn’t work out with the others. It was because it wasn’t Jin. You pulled away and looked into his eyes. You saw that he was the same Jin, the same boy you were with for your whole life. You loved him for so long, but you never thought you would love him in this way.

“Wow, that was-” He was so red you couldn’t help but let out a little giggle.

“So how long has it been since you had these feelings?” You asked still with your arms around his neck and his arms on your waist.

“Since the beginning of high school. I never thought that you would like me back.” he dropped his head down.

“Well, I don’t like you.” You moved your hand and lifted his chin and made him look at you. “I realized that,” you moved closer to him. He swallowed hard and became more red. “I love you. I loved you since the beginning.” he leaned in and deepened the kiss. He was the one that you needed in your life.

You tried to keep it professional when it came to work. However, the key word was “tried.” When nobody was around, he was romantic and whispered sweet nothings in your ear. He was very suggestive and you were surprised. After 2 months of dating, you decided to tell your parents. They were not surprised at all. They knew eventually you would date. They supported it and wanted you two to get married right away. You decided to wait, it took a year for you to tell the company about it. Bang PD was not too wild about it, while the other girls in the company were happy for you. The CEO eventually accepted it as long as they keep it a secret and no going out together.

5 years later

“You really had to wait 5 years to get married?” Your mom said.

“Yes mom. We were not going to marry after dating for 2 months like you suggested.” You came out of your room with your wedding dress on. Your mom and your soon to be mom were about to cry. You wore a mermaid style wedding dress with lacing covering your shoulders and chest and a beaded belt. Your hair was curled and your makeup was all fancy yet natural.

“What a beauty!” You hear someone say at the doorway. It was Jimin.

You see all the boys standing there in their tuxes.

“Jin’s going to get mad at you if he found out you were hitting on his woman.” Hoseok said.

“What are you guys doing here?” You ask.

“We’re here to see if we regret not stealing you from Jin. I’m having second thoughts.” Tae smiled and winked. Namjoon hits him on the shoulder.

“Tsk, you too!” Namjoon exclaimed.

“We wanted our sister in law before she goes down the aisle.” Yoongi smiled.

“I wanted to know if you wanted to back out. I mean, you’re marrying Jin. That means you’ll be with him forever!” Jungkook and the others laugh as well, including Jin’s mom.

“Yes, I am sure that I want to marry him. I can’t imagine my life without him. If he was with another girl, I don’t know how I could’ve lived.” They all awed except for Tae and Jungkook whom were disgusted. “All of you have grown so much. Ah I’m getting teary eyed before my ceremony.” you gently wipe your eyes. Both of your moms got up and started to push the other’s out.

“Okay, it’s almost time. Let’s go kids!” your mom exclaimed. Your dad bumped into them before entering the room.

“You ready?” He extended his arm to you. You picked up your flowers and linked arms with him.

“Ready as I’ll ever be!” You smile. You looked at your dad and can see the tears welling up in his eyes.

“Are you okay?” you chuckle. He started to lead you out.

“Yeah, I just can’t believe my baby is getting married today.” You took his handkerchief and wiped his eyes.

You reached the entrance and heard the music start playing. The doors opened and you saw everyone looking at you. It was a small wedding, just your families, but it was still special. You reached the front and Jin extended his hand to you and held it. The ceremony went by fast and soon enough, your vows came.

“Ahem, I’m not really good at these things but I’ll try my best. I got Namjoon to help me so I think I’m good.” You and the crowd started to chuckle. “Y/n, you have been my best friend since we were little. We were technically born into this relationship because of our mothers, and I would like to thank them for that. If it wasn’t for them, I would not have ever met the amazing girl that you are. You were such an inspiration to me. You taught me so many things. You taught me how to dream, you showed me what I can do. I can’t ever imagine my life without you. No, really, because you are my life. You are my world, my everything. Now that you’re in front of me, and we’re about to spend the rest of our lives together, I feel complete. Thank you for being who you are and thank you for being in my life. And we don’t need a paradise to fly to together, because just being with you is a dream come true. ” You are overwhelmed with the tears streaming down your face. Soon enough it was your turn. You could barely talk, but you finished. You end the ceremony with your kiss and everything else was history.

[dominatoroftheworld]

The Execution - A Family Guy Fanfic - ONESHOT

Summary:  Per month, a specific event occurs. An unstoppable one.

Rating: T (PG-13)

Pairings: None

A/N: I don't own Family Guy. This is more based on an earlier seasons Stewie. Also, this is based on the Stewie I mostly commonly write, a fifteen year old version.  (Reposted from ArchiveOfOurOwn, didn’t realize I never posted it on here, or on my sideblogged archived Stewie blog from years ago, so here it is NOW, under ‘read more’ is the fanfic)

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was an average afternoon.

Seeming like an average city at the very least, one would have to take a closer look nevertheless to see a horrifying event occurring.

All kinds of people were gathering—muttering amongst themselves, never one typical chuckle of a crowd. Looks of horror were instead of the rage, as their eyes flew up and over to the stage before them. The sun was casting some shadows beyond people--- almost if ironically making it a little more sinister that day.

Sinister---

Cameras were focused on the stage that would set a further example.

It was empty for right now, but soon enough some sharply dressed men and women came upon it, keeping a neat line. The crowd died down quite a bit—awe-struck.

They stopped, much to the intrigue of the audience.

A small portion of them disappeared off to the side, where---

Where…

Well, people preferred not to think about it.

A podium stood—Stood right on the right side of the stage. Poles around the area had flat-screen TVs where it would be broadcasting as well for people in the back of the crowd. Not to mention, the cameras were also linked up to the TV broadcasting system.

Broadcasting where?

To the entire world.

The person of interest who was leading this event wasn’t out just yet---

Their presence would be soon noticed, when the time was right. A few minutes by, and a black limo pulled up off on the corner of the street, a block away.

“Goddamn it!” A curse was heard within, by a somewhat young voice.

The door swung open, allowing them to step out—and what one could see was a crisp dark blue suit, a hand of the owner hurriedly wiped at one of his cuffs.

It was a boy—no older than the age of fifteen.

A huff exited his mouth, as he sighed with relief. Now adjusting his sleeve, he took a slow gaze over to the stage and withheld back a smirk. Today’s list of traitors and rebels would pay, no doubt. It was all part of his system—

His system to keep the world under his very control.

Fear.

It was most definitely a powerful motivator, and no doubt it would be used.

His shoes crunched the gravel underneath his feet, as he finally shut the door, his bodyguard closely following behind him.

A phone was dug out his blazer’s side pocket, and he held it up to his ear after dialing. “I’m here. Get them up onto the stage.” One would hardly believe it, but the British voice was cold as ice, showing no room for argument.

“Of course, Mr. Griffin, sir.” One of the men said from the stage.

Some struggling people were suddenly led onto the area, fear clear within their eyes. As soon as they were, the crowd fell utterly silent.

A pin could drop, and everyone would hear it.

A little blip came from the dictator’s phone, as he ended the call, looking on in satisfaction as his employee did what he was told.

His chilling, chocolate eyes swept over the crowd, daring them to protest, to speak up.

“Y-You can’t do this… M-My—“

The boy’s eyes turned sharply to the protesting man, and he simply scoffed, pausing his walk to the podium. He narrowed his eyes--

“You cannot stop this.”

It was a simple statement, but it was a good way to see what people would do if trapped. It was the perfect to weed out future rebels, and bring them to justice.

“W-W—“

“Shut up.”

The torn up man immediately did so, now clinging to a woman beside him, letting his view to tract away from the sight before him. He wouldn’t watch. He couldn’t.

The leader made note of the guy’s appearance, before continuing on. Before everyone knew, Stewie was right up on stage in his place. Lifting his arms and hands, he adjusted the microphone in front of him.

“Yes, hello. As usual, Stewart Griffin, dictator of this fine world, to bring you people yet another Public Execution. Of course, this is a bit odd having two ones in a month, but it is entirely necessary. There had been a slight increase of individuals harmful to the world in which I’ve built for all of you—“

He motioned behind himself, diagonally to the right.

“But they are to be taken care of today, nevertheless. A number of traitors had been observed—and finally caught. To be done with.”

He sent a slight look, particularly at one of them, and they seemed to look right back at the still child.

The eye contact broke, instantly as the boy looked back upon the crowd.

“….Such as this—“ The teen refrained from using cusswords in place of others. Not in public, not on camera. “—Person right over there.”

He pointed directly at the man who he had been glaring at.

“He is part of the major ‘Dictator Down’ group from Great Britain, itself. He is one of the highest ranks within the organization, and another thing—“ He looked directly a camera a few feet away.

“The leader will no doubt be brought down as well, hopefully in the next couple of months.”

Those words seemed to echo—All over.

It would be one of the greater accomplishments Stewie would have accomplished these last two and half years. The group had been a major thorn in his side for a better part of a whole year. They were usually people who lay low, only struck when necessary. Definitely intelligent, or the teenager would have caught all of them a long time ago.

Stewie had to repress a full-out grin—lest he’d look like a lunatic.

So, so close.

A sigh of relief and of victory passed through his nose, as he continued to speak---

“The others are not of any significant role—merely random people.” He waved his hand a bit in the air, before lowering it. Suddenly, he cleared his throat. Getting out some notecards, he placed them upon the podium—and if one could observe, they had names and descriptions on them.

“Now—“ He motioned briefly with his hand towards some of the security—“..Bring up Alexander Jones.”

Two of Stewie’s men brought up the sandy haired, medium build man up to a spot where below was a giant black x. “N-No, please…”

“Begging doesn’t do anything.” The one on the right.

”They’re right.” Stewie said in a quiet voice, before picking it up, facing the audience, who looked nervous.

“NOW—The method of execution is—“ He always did a dramatic pause. “--- A gunshot to the head.”

Alexander immediately shut his eyes, not wanting to look.

“3, 2, 1—“

All it took was a simple signal, and the deed was done, letting the ringing of the gunshot linger within the atmosphere for a few tense moments.

Blood.

It leaked down the stage’s sides—with each person that had been violently murdered.

Until—

“Johnson. We finally meet. Face to face.”

Johnson looked up slowly towards Stewie, hatred within his eyes. “….Griffin.”

Both voice kept low. It was a slightly private conversation. “You knew this bloody day would come.” Woops. Stewie had cursed.

“Wrong… the important day—it’s still yet to come.”

“Pray tell, what’s that?”

“…Your death.”

Stewie’s face nearly twitched into a sneer. “…I highly doubt it, my good man.”

“The leader….” Johnson was breathing a little heavily. “He’ll get you. I-I… have faith.”

“Oh, a male, hnnnn?”

“That’s public knowledge.”

Stewie tch’ed, almost wanting to slam his foot right into the guy’s face right then and there. “…I’ll tear him down. When I’m done with him, he’ll wish death.”

Confusion spread across his face. “So… the rumors are true…”

“Yes, my basement is essentially a torture dungeons sort of arrangement.”

Johnson slightly paled, then barked out a low laugh. “Right… and you wonder why 3/4s of the world wants to tear you down?”

“Lies.. It’s not that bloody much.”

Johnson cracked a slight smile. “You wanna bet?”

“Yeah, I do.” Just then, he signaled for his men to do the execution. A nice brutal attack—some of the audience had to turn away.

After the next person, the boy could had sworn he heard hateful murmurs within the crowd.

Interesting.

He turned—

That night he slept quite peacefully despite the horrors that had occurred.

~*~*~*~*~*~

[awesomenell65]

I’m old enough to have children of my own in university, and I’ve been active in online fandom since the late 1990s, so I can share a few observations of my own w you.

You can read about all this and more at Fanlore. Or the articles put out occasionally by various aca fan organizations. New theory gets better and breaks new ground when it builds on older works instead of replicating it for lack knowledge of its existing at all.

These are really long-standing conversations that have produced at least two generations if not three of interesting, thoughtful (and sometime infuriating or just stupid) meta and analysis. Including a lot of efforts to get into some serious number crunching data about both fan identification and the types of fic they write. You might find it interesting to take some deep dives into those older conversations, to the extent they were saved. Slash wars, race fail, are all slashers really misogynists? (No!) And more.

AO3 in particular was started by fans who wrote a lot, if not primarily, mlm work bc that’s what was most threatened by the waves of purity policing at the time. Other archives then and since had and have a lot more het focused work. As AO3 has grown, that may or may not change. Het focused writers were by and large not nearly as threatened by the purity policing of that era. They could and did put their work lots of places, including fandom specific archives. Tens of thousands of het focused fan fic from earlier generations is gone from the internet as a result. Those archives have all vanished one by one and that work is gone. You will never have an accurate count of het v mlm fic for many many fandoms pre about 2012 as a result.

Fourth even longer standing platforms like ff.net won’t give you a good historical count as that archive has been hit by at least two major purges, scrubbing another many 1000x of fic. So was livejounal.

Honestly- bottom line- it’s impossible to really say what types of fan fiction have most appealed to ‘people’ when. Readers and writers found each and siloed off - and because of things like purity policing, and homophobia, and cool kids, and fear of the cool kids, - a lot of fan groups won’t reveal themselves to each other. Even now. Or whole types of fandom simply exist elsewhere.

Did you know professional wrestling has a vast body of fanfic going back decades? They don’t even call it fanfic. But fans write stories for the wrestlers. Male fans mostly. Or used to be. A lot of professional sports do. (Hockey is big I understand.) And yes, it crosses back over to RPF band fic - so from another broad POV, it’s all fic, right? Fandom history is a pretty huge topic all by itself. And it’s a big place. Much bigger and older and self aware than only ‘straight girls who used to read band fic on watt pad’.

Is it just me or is the inordinate amount of m/m ships on ao3 to a great extent just straight girls who used to read self insert one direction fics on wattpad